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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27812074">Porcelain</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatgleekychick/pseuds/thatgleekychick'>thatgleekychick</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Glee</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 17:14:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>23,231</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27812074</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatgleekychick/pseuds/thatgleekychick</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Blaine's not thrilled about starting a new school his junior year. But in a matter of eight hours, he manages to meet two people who will change his mind and his future. Kurt has a secret. And the more he pushes people away, the easier it will be in the end. Come graduation, whether in a body bag or an airplaine, Kurt Hummel is leaving Ohio for good.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Originally written in 2012-2013. Posting this here with a little editing.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Though it was the first day of a new school year, the summer heat still radiated through Lima, Ohio as Blaine Anderson stepped out of his mother’s car for the first day at a brand new school. His family had moved to Lima in July and he’d left behind a school he loved and a group of friends who promised to keep in touch. He was less than thrilled about the whole endeavor. But despite his lack of enthusiasm for starting at the beginning of his junior year, Blaine waved goodbye to his mother as she pulled away from the front of William McKinley High School. At least for today, Blaine had no other option than to make it until the last bell rang at three o’clock. </p><p>
  <span>Adjusting the strap on his brown messenger bag, Blaine took a deep breath to calm his nerves, then turned to enter the unfamiliar school. Inside, he maneuvered through the locker-lined hallways and sea of strangers until he managed to find the hallway that, according to the sheet that also contained his schedule, occupied his locker. He pushed his way through the student body until he found the tan door labeled D425 and quickly made work of freeing the lock from the door. Blaine studied the grey interior only decorated by bits of year-old graffiti and sighed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He placed the bagged lunch that he’d made that morning in the barren locked then reached into his bag to empty fill his locker with all of the new school supplies. That was the only thing exciting about the start of his school year. New notebooks and pencils. Blaine rolled his eyes at his thoughts. It was going to be a long year. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Glancing at his schedule, he noted that his first-class was History, and based on the map of the school printed on the back of the paper, the classroom was clear on the other side of campus. Checking his watch, Blaine noted that there were still fifteen minutes before class and he wasn’t particularly interested in being early. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Honestly, Blaine hated the first day of school. It was torture most of the time, but as the new kids, it was just punishment on a whole new level. It was common practice amongst educators nationwide to encourage social interaction between students by forcing them to stand in front of their peers and introduce themselves. Blaine hoped he could get through the day with the repeated speech of, “Hi, I’m Blaine Anderson.” But teachers were always most interested (or at least pretended to be) with the new students. Most of the kids here had been going to school together since preschool. So new kids and freshmen were fresh faces, a change of pace. The teachers always wanted to know more. And each time Blaine stood up and told them “I like to sing” with a shy smile and a shrug of his shoulders, he always got a less than enthusiastic response from both his teachers and his classmates. That was, until Dalton. At Dalton, he was approached at lunchtime by two boys, Wes and David, and asked to audition for the Dalton Academy Warblers. Blaine had agreed with a smile and passed his audition spectacularly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, in front of a locker at a different school, Blaine pushed away the feeling of longing for Dalton Academy and reminded himself that this was the third time in the last three years that he had to do this and he should be a pro by now. He would get through it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine was shaken from his thoughts by the loud thunder of something crashing into the lockers next to him. Blaine looked over, startled and bewildered, to see that it wasn’t a what, but a who. One the floor beside him sat a boy, his back pressed against the lockers, an angry look on his face. Blaine noted the laughter from somewhere down the hall, but he couldn’t be bothered with anything but the boy. His brown hair looked like it had taken some work to make it sit so perfectly on top of his head. He wore a perfectly fitted grey long-sleeved shirt, topped with a black vest, accompanied by a pair of black skinny jeans and white boots that hit his mid-calf. He was dressed like he’d walked out of New York’s fashion week instead of nowhere, Ohio. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t until the boy looked up and locked eyes with Blaine, his eyes a stunning share of blue that reminded him of the water near the lake house he’d gone to over spring break last year, that Blaine truly took in how attractive the boy was. He stunned him as almost as much as his collision with the lockers had. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A-are you all right?” Blaine asked when he managed to find his voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine,” the other boy muttered, angry eyes casting down the hall again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine extended his hand out to help the other boy up, but the boy just shook his head before pushing himself off the ground and turned to work the lock of the locker right next to his. He was muttering something under his breath, clearly frustrated after what had just happened to him. Blaine was a little startled himself. At Dalton, there had been a zero-tolerance policy when it came to bullying. There were never any students crashing into locker banks. But before Dalton, there had been Westerville High and there had been bullies there, and days where Blaine had wished he’d been only pushed into his locker. Regardless of the severity of the bullying, he understood this strange boy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m Blaine,” he said extending his hand once more, “I’m, uh, new here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other boy turned from where he was putting things into his bag, hesitant blue eyes watching Blaine. Blaine caught his eyes roll as his hand reached out to meet Blaine’s. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kurt,” the other boy said before removing his hand quickly from Blaine’s. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s nice to meet you, Kurt,” Blaine said shyly, “Are you sure you’re okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yup!” Kurt said, his gaze back toward his locker.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was nice to meet you,” Blaine said, “I should, uh, get to class.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt didn’t look his way, only nodded as he rummaged through the little bit that was inside his locker. Blaine turned and maneuvered his way through the crowd of strangers once more, having met one of the undoubtedly several people today, Blaine couldn’t help but think that his first day at William McKinley had certainly started with a bang. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>*** </span>
</p><p>
  <span>To Blaine’s surprise, only five of his seven teachers made him get in front of the class. He told them his name, that he’d transferred from Dalton because his dad got a new job, and that he liked to sing. He repeated the same speech each time the teacher asked. Most of the time it was met with silence and then some forced applause. But the last time Blaine finished his brief monologue, during sixth period Geometry, it was met with a high pitched squeal from the tiny brunette in the front row that made everyone, including Blaine, cringe. The girl, dressed in a plaid skirt, white button-up, and black blazer immediately shot out of her seat and met Blaine in front of the class—this was, thankfully, the only teacher that actually made him come to the front of the room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Rachel Berry,” she said with an extended hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi,” Blaine said, cautiously accepting her handshake. He wasn’t sure how to properly describe her. Intense didn’t feel quite enough. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you any good?” Rachel said, her words coming out like rapid fire from her mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, I guess,” Blaine said, “I was the lead of the show choir at my old school.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Brilliant,” Rachel exclaimed, “Sing something. Mr. Shue trusts my judgment and if I say you’re good enough for New Directions, you’re good enough. I have a perfect ear for talent. I, myself, am very talented.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You want me to sing?” Blaine questioned, “Right now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course. A great performer is always prepared for an impromptu performance.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d rather not,” Blaine said, desperate to get back to his seat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rachel huffed, “Fine. But the first Glee Club rehearsal is tomorrow at three-thirty. There’s a signup sheet by the main office, but really you can just show up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ll see,” Blaine said before the teacher interrupted them both and asked them to take a seat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine was relieved to be out of the spotlight, but he returned to his desk thinking not for Geometry, but New Directions. He hadn’t given much thought to extracurricular activities while he was at McKinley, especially glee club. But maybe it would help make things a little easier. He’d eaten lunch alone that day and it really wouldn’t hurt to make a couple of friends. Plus, singing and dancing were what he loved to do. And if joining New Directions let him to it, it wouldn’t hurt to at least try. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine was thankful when the last class of the day, English, started without a special introduction to Blaine Anderson. The teacher took attendance and it wasn’t until the teacher called for Kurt Hummel that Blaine had even realized Kurt was in the room. He sat in the back corner and didn’t speak when the teacher called on him, only made eye contact long enough to communicate that he was present then turned his attention back toward the notebook in front of his, his hand scribbling furiously along the page. The teacher didn’t comment on his lack of attention but quickly went on explaining the syllabus. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When class ended, Blaine moved out of the classroom and through the crowd of anxious teenagers all desperate to get home and do whatever it was that they did when they weren’t there. Some rushed off to hang out with friends while the homework load was still light. Others rushed off to after school activities. Some simply wanted to get home. But Blaine moved at a slower speed through the hallways knowing his mother was going to be late picking him up because of the book club she’d joined shortly after they’d moved. Noticing the time, Blaine wondered what number the Warblers would practice at their first meeting and who would take over as their lead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Throughout the day, Blaine had managed to memorize his locker combination and opened the tan door with eat. There was now more in his locker than there had been that morning. His barren locker was now filled with textbooks and other supplies. In the course of just one eight hour day, Blaine managed to make room for himself in a space he had no desire that morning of occupying long term. And now it had the potential of a friend in Rachel Berry and the New Directions. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine turned when he heard shouting behind him. The first thing he noticed was that two bigger kids, football players Blaine noted from their jerseys, were stalking down the hallway calling for attention from someone who seemed unwilling to give it. It was only a moment before Blaine spotted Kurt rushing through what was left of the crowd, his attention focused on the floor at his feet, a couple of books held tightly to his chest. When Kurt reached the lockers, he kept his focus on opening his lock, not on Blaine and certainly not on the boys who had stopped behind him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why don’t you show us your wings fairy boy,” one of them asked. He was tall, dark-skinned, and very much built like he spent plenty of time running and lifting weights.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you sparkly, Hummel?” the other taunted. This one was white and taller than his friend but still built the same way. Together they towered over Kurt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt continued to ignore them. The first boy made another comment and the moment the word ‘fag’ escaped the boy’s lips, Blaine turned instantly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why don’t you back off?” Blaine said raising his voice at the two strangers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who are you?” the second boy questioned, “I’ve never seen you before. Hummel, did you get yourself a mail-order husband?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine glanced at Kurt who continued to ignore everything going on around him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m bored,” the first boy commented, “Hummel’s not playing nice. Let’s go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a tentative glance at Kurt from the first boy, they both turned and walked the way they’d come. The hallway was suddenly very empty and very quiet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry if that was out of line,” Blaine said, “Are you all right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look,” Kurt said, his angry blue eyes snapping in Blaine’s direction. It was the first word he’d said throughout the entire ordeal, “We aren’t friends. I’m sorry if something I did gave you that impression, but we are in fact, <em>not friends</em>. So, please, mind your own business. You’ll thank me later.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt slammed his locker door shut with a sound that echoed the one made that morning as Kurt’s body had crashed against it and without looking back at Blaine, he put his bag over his shoulder and walked away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine wondered what Kurt could have meant when he’d said that he’d thank him later for not being his friend. Blaine couldn’t help but think about Kurt and the two very personal, very public, situations that he had found the boy on that day as he walked down the main hallway to meet his mother. He knew how Kurt felt; he understood the need that Kurt had to push everyone away, especially strangers like Blaine. AS Blaine passed the announcement board, he stopped and searched until he found the signup sheet for New Directions hidden behind some flyers for the Cheerios. There was not a single name on the list, only obscene drawings. Blaine felt a little hopeful as he scribbled his name down on the first non-vandalized line.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*** </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt pushed his way through the front door of his Uncle Tim’s house and scowled. The place was a mess. A trail of clothes his uncle had worn the night before started in the living room, continued up the stairs, down the hallway, and stopped outside his uncle’s bedroom. Downstairs there was a large pile of dirty dishes in the sink and there was a tinge of vomit wafting through the air. Everything about the state of the house meant that Kurt’s uncle had had another night of drinking with the boys before his rather trashy girlfriend came by. It wasn’t the first time Kurt’s uncle had done this. In fact, it happened almost every night. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt sighed and put his bag down on the couch before rolling up his sleeves and beginning his chores. The clothes that had been carelessly tossed aside needed to be removed from sight, a load of laundry washed, the dishes done, dinner made. Kurt glanced at the clock on the microwave and quickly got to work as he realized that he likely only had forty-five minutes until his uncle would be home. Maybe if he was lucky, Tim would stop at the bar on his way home, giving him enough time to finish all the chores before disappearing into his room. But Kurt the day had proven that luck was not on Kurt’s side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>An hour later, Tim Hummel walked through the front door, a smile on his face and a bottle of wine in each of his hands, held by the neck between his fingers. He was alone, which meant that he probably hadn’t had anything to drink yet tonight. Kurt stayed quiet but worked quickly on putting the finishing touches on dinner: spaghetti with jarred sauce and garlic bread. All he needed was to finish making dinner and then he could disappear. Kurt turned back to the stove to drain the water from the pasta before stirring in the sauce. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were no words exchanged as Tim moved toward the refrigerator to chill the evening’s refreshments. As he passed Kurt, his shoulder pressed into him right between the shoulder blades, pressing him forward. Kurt reached out to steady himself and his left hand landed on the pan sitting on top of the stove. The one he had only removed from the oven as his uncle had come through the door. The one still sizzling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt tried to stifle the yelp, but as the pain spread through his hand, a whimper escaped his lips despite his best efforts. Tim paid him no attention as Kurt cradled his hand against his chest, then disappeared into the living room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt sighed and moved to the sink to run some water over his hand which was now a nice shade of red. But he only took a moment before returning to dinner preparations. Mixing the sauce with the noodles, he reached into the cabinet to grab a Tupperware container, pulling some of the spaghetti and a few pieces of bread inside. He wasn’t hungry now, but once he was in his room he wouldn’t dare come out for anything. He would eat it cold in the safety of his bedroom. He wouldn’t risk being seen once his uncle started drinking and the house was full of his Wall Street buddies. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grabbing silverware from the drawer and a plate from the cabinet, Kurt made his uncle a plate and put it on the kitchen table. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first thing he noticed when he walked into the living room was the contents of his bag scattered around the carpet. Kurt tried to keep his face neutral as he looked at his uncle, but inside his anger was simmering. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you leave your shit around, I’m going to throw it all of it away,” Uncle Tim spat, “You will have nothing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt remained quiet as he bent down to stuff everything messily into his bag. He just needed to get upstairs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dinner is on the table,” Kurt muttered, “and there’s more on the counter.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His uncle didn’t say anything, but he made his way to the kitchen. As he passed Kurt, his foot came out and nudged Kurt’s leg. Kurt lost his balance and fell onto the carpet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sighing Kurt just clutched his bag, moving quickly back into the kitchen to grab the Tupperware and fork, and headed towards the staircase that led down to his bedroom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once he could sit down on his bed, Kurt examined his hand, hissing at the pain that radiated from where his fingertips rubbed against the tender skin. It was sure to leave a mark for a few days. He was just grateful it wasn’t his drawing hand. He grabbed his school bag again and dumped the cluster onto his bed. Grabbing his sketchbook, he moved over to the desk. It was the first day of school and there wasn’t any homework that needed to be done by tomorrow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He opened his sketchbook to the page he’d started the previous morning. It wasn’t finished and there were only three days left to enter his submission to the Parsons Scholarship Program. Resting his burnt hand against his knee, Kurt pulled out a pencil and began working vigorously on making the dress he’d been imagining since breakfast yesterday come into the next step of reality on the page in front of him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After an hour, all it needed was color. Kurt took a break to eat his now room temperature dinner and after changing into pajamas, he sat back down at his desk to finish his submission. He stared at the sketch for a long moment, decided what colors would work best. He didn’t have time to experiment, he had to get this right the first time. He needed these to be the best sketches. He needed to get that scholarship and get out of Lima. There were no other options, not anymore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt took a deep breath and looked up at the photo on his desk. In the photo, a man and a woman held each other close, bright smiles on their faces. The ache in his chest overtook the pain from his burn. Kurt missed his parents. His mom, Elisabeth, had died when he was eight in a car accident. It was terrible to have his mother kiss him on the cheek and send him off to school one morning, and by four that afternoon, when the bus pulled up in front of the house, she was gone. But then he’d still had his dad. Then, four years later, he was pulled from class because his dad had suffered a heart attack. He fell into a coma, and then never woke up. And at twelve, Kurt was sent to live with Burt’s younger brother, Tim. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tim was nothing like Burt Hummel. Burt was a mechanic, an honest working man. Burt loved his family and they always came first. Tim was a businessman who lived in Dayton until Burt had died and he came to Lima to ‘raise’ Kurt. To say that Tim wasn’t meant to handle children was an understatement. Tim wasn’t prepared to deal with Kurt, especially once the bullying started. And he certainly wasn’t prepared for the realization that Kurt was gay. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had started with a slap across the face if Kurt would talk back, but eventually, it became an entirely different game. Whether it was just the way he was or the stress of being forced to father a teenager was too much, Uncle Tim turned to alcohol. And sometimes when Tim got drunk, he thought a little tough love would do Kurt some good, make him more of a man; less gay. Kurt had been shoved into walls, furniture, and like tonight with the stove, anything else his uncle could envision. And Kurt had learned the hard way not to call him out on it. The one time he had, about six months after it started, he was greeted not-so-kindly by Uncle Tim’s closed fist. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was then he started closing himself off. He dropped out of all his afterschool activities and distanced himself from the small group of friends that he had. He was expected to keep the house clean and learned quickly what it meant if it wasn’t. He mastered the art of cleaning the house and making dinner all before Tim got home. If he did what needed to be done, he could escape to his room and he would rarely be bothered. As long as he stayed out of sight, he escaped his uncle’s mind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was a senior this year and as soon as he could get out of Lima, he was gone. His uncle could forget all about him and the last six years. That was why getting into Parsons was so important. Once he was in, he could leave this place behind and take over the fashion world. He could live his dream instead of the nightmare he’d found himself in. He’d be free. In a body bag or on an airplane, Kurt Hummel was leaving Ohio once graduation was over. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The next day, aside from their shared English class, Blaine didn’t see Kurt until they were both at their lockers after classes had let out for the day. It has been another chaotic day for Blaine as he slowly managed to find his way around the school. He even managed to be on time for most of his classes. </p><p>
  <span>Just before lunch, Rachel had appeared out of nowhere and dragged him to the auditorium for an impromptu duet since he wouldn’t sing for her the day before. When their voices were nothing more than echoes amongst the empty seats, Rachel had the biggest smile on her face and maybe even a tear in her eye as she assured him that he could most certainly be a suitable match for her vocally and would be a very viable option for Glee club’s male lead opposite her. Blaine would be lying if that didn’t make him feel just a bit less anxious about his audition that afternoon. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The audition that was now thirty minutes away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t the performance itself that Blaine was nervous about; he was a performer. It was what he did. But there were going to be thirteen people sitting in that room, watching him; judging him. He would have to impress all of them and then hope they would accept him as a teammate. So, Blaine took his time at his locker, mentally going through his audition number once more in his head. When Kurt arrived, sans the entourage of torments, and began playing with his lock, Blaine made a conscious decision not to engage. Kurt had made it clear the day before that he and Blaine were not, and never would be, friends. He’d hoped they could at least be civil, but it seemed that Kurt wanted, for whatever reason, to pretend like Blaine didn’t exist. So, he would have to do the same. Instead, he distracted himself with checking and double-checking that he had all the books he needed for that night’s homework.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But his eyes were drawn back to Kurt when the other boy let a hiss escape his lips as his left hand moved to catch a book as it fell from his locker’s top-shelf. Putting the book back in its place, Kurt turned his palm over to examine it. Blaine couldn’t hold in the gasp that escaped his lips as he took in the glaring red hue Kurt’s skin had adopted overnight. There were a couple of pale blisters beginning to form near on his palm beneath his middle and ring finger. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You burned—are you alright?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt quickly moved his hand to the side, but otherwise went on like Blaine wasn’t even there. Blaine reminded himself of his earlier promise to not engage and went back to making sure he had everything he needed. Beside him, Kurt continued to let out hiss after hiss. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mix some honey and four and put it on your hand,” Blaine finally said, and Kurt finally looked in his direction. And for a change he didn’t look annoyed, but curious, “That should take the sting out of it pretty quickly. And don’t pop the blisters unless you have Neosporin or something around it. You should probably wrap the whole thing up for a few days.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt stood there silently, watching him. Examining him maybe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I had a pretty nasty sunburn one summer when I was little,” Blaine explained, “Kept me inside for two days until my mom found the remedy online. I was nearly good as new the next day.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt’s lips opened and closed a few times, then finally, “Thank,” escaped from his lips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure thing,” Blaine said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine expected Kurt to shrug him off immediately, to ignore him, or just walk away. But he stood there, watching Blaine with dark shadows in his blue eyes. Someone called Blaine’s name from down the hall, breaking whatever moment he and Kurt had been stuck in. It was Rachel, who came bounding toward him with enough energy to power the school. The girl was a force. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Blaine,” she called again “could I get a minute with you before Glee rehearsal please?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Both boys looked up as Rachel approached them, her eyes glancing at Kurt quickly, a glimpse of something Blaine couldn’t place flashed in her eyes and she hurried to bring her attention entirely to Blaine. Blaine moved to look at Kurt, but he was already closing his locker and heading down the hallway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was wondering what song you were auditioning with this afternoon?” Rachel asked as Blaine watched Kurt disappear at the end of the hallway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, sure,” Blaine said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I see you made a friend,” Rachel said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine turned his attention back to the girl in front of him, “I wouldn’t go that far,” he began as he put his bag over his shoulder and started walking them toward the choir room. Or at least, he hoped it was the right direction. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” Rachel said, her eyes downcast, but Blaine could saw the expression on his face. The same she’d had at his locker. Disappointment? Sadness? He wasn’t sure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you know Kurt?” he asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not anymore.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine pursed his lips, “What does that mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rachel stopped and looked at Blaine, “Kurt and I, we used to be best friends.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Used to be,” Blaine parroted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” She said, and then kept walking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What happened?” Blaine chanced. While he was certain if he’d asked Kurt that he would ignore him. Pretend he wasn’t there. Maybe it wasn’t his business, but he found himself intrigued by Kurt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d like to know myself, actually,” Rachel said, “One day we were planning makeover and singing duets in my living room for my dads and then the next he wouldn’t answer my calls or texts. He dropped out of Glee and every time I’ve tried to talk to him he’d walk away from me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine remained quiet. He didn’t know what to say. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But it was a year ago, and if he doesn’t want to be friends with anyone it’s not my business anymore,” Rachel continued, “Now. Let’s focus on more important topics. Like what song you’re about to dazzle the pants off of New Directions with.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine was suddenly curious to hear more about the relationship between Rachel and Kurt but refrained from asking too many questions. None of it was his business. He didn’t really know either of them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Always Be My Baby,” Blaine told her as they arrived at the choir room, “Originally by Mariah Carey, but I think David Cook’s American Idol rendition is pretty amazing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had been sadness in her eyes before; Blaine knew that now. But he watched again as her eyes became wide with anticipation, the past hurt forgotten as she grabbed onto his arm and guided him into the choir room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>*** </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt was sitting, uninterested, as his history teacher droned on at the front of the classroom about the Civil War. He really couldn’t care about the Union and the Confederacy. Instead, his mind drifted to New York City. The place he hoped more than anything was his future home. Since his dad passed away, New York City was all he’d wanted; to escape Lima. And yes, maybe his dreams had once included Rachel at his side, but the world—his world—had changed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were 268 days until the school year was over. He’d turn eighteen a week later, and then he was gone. He’d gotten a job that past summer doing the most disgusting work in the kitchen of the most popular restaurant in Lima and he was able to save enough money for a one-way ticket out of there. Now all he needed was a full ride to Parsons to give him at least four years before he had to figure out what came next. All he knew was that once he left Lima, returning wasn’t an option. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mr. Hummel,” Mr. Hodgson’s voice pulled Kurt abruptly from his thoughts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt looked up, a bewildered look on his face, at his teacher who was standing in front of his desk holding a slip of paper. <em>Great, detention, </em>Kurt though taking the slip from Mr. Hodgson’s hand. He looked it over quickly and noticed, with a tinge of relief, that it wasn’t a detention slip. He couldn’t spend any extra time in this building after school. Instead of detention, his presence was being requested by Miss Pillsbury, the guidance counselor. He should report to her office immediately. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt looked at his teacher quizzically but was only offered a slight shrug of Mr. Hodgson’s shoulder. Great.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The hallways were empty and quiet as Kurt made his way to Miss Pillsbury’s office. He wasn’t sure what he could have possibly done. He never asked for help with college applications and his grades were just fine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he approached the Plexiglas walls of Emma Pillsbury’s office, he saw the red hair woman sitting at her desk, looking nervous as she wrung her hands meticulously over and over. At least this got him out of a boring lecture. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt knocked on the doorframe, “You wanted to see me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Kurt! Yes,” she exclaimed, “Please sit down.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt shrugged his bag off his shoulder and sat down in one of the two blue chairs in front of Emma’s desk. She shot up out of her own seat a moment later and quickly moved over to the door, closing his before reclaiming her seat behind her well-organized desk. Kurt was officially nervous.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, Kurt,” Emma said, her hands clasped together on top of her desk, “How are things with you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt’s eyes narrowed in confusion, “Fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you sure? There’s nothing bothering you that you might want to…express in a private, confidential manner?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt crossed his legs, “Did I do something wrong?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? No, No,” Emma said, “But Kurt. A few of the teachers at McKinely have expressed concern that you might be at risk.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt said his brows, “At risk for what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’ve noticed lately that you’ve been rather separated from your classmates.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You think I’m anti-social?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, yes,” Emma said bluntly, “One of the teachers also noticed the rather severe burn on your hand and wondered if maybe it was—“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Self-inflicted?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s nice to know the faculty is worried I’m going to off them, or myself, but I promise you, Miss Pillsbury,” Kurt said holding up his wrapped hand, “This is nothing more than a baking accident.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So, maybe that wasn’t true, but Kurt was never going to say anything that even resembled the truth. He did, however, owe Blaine for his honey and flour suggestion. His hand felt a million times better. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kurt, you know anything you say to me will be kept confidential. You can talk to me about anything if you’d like.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you for your concern, Miss Pillsbury,” Kurt said. It had only taken them a year to realize something was off. But I guess they were fearful of their own lives, “But I’m fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt stood and Miss Pillsbury looked up at his with her wide hazel eyes full of something he hadn’t seen in any of the faculty ever; genuine concern. Kurt pushed away from the clenching at his heart with a deep breath before heading towards the day. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kurt,” Miss Pillsbury called just after Kurt had open the door, “if you change your mind, or if something changes. My door is always open.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt nodded silently and walked into the hallway now crowded with students. He had thought a million times about seeking help. Of finding the person to be his hero. But at some point, he stopped wanting to be saved and started doing his best to survive and escape. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>*** </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt hurried home after school. His application for the Parsons scholarship would need to go into the mail before school the next morning and he needed to proofread his essay one more time and then go over his designed to make sure they were flawless. He trusted his talent and the passion the drove him to perfect it, but this would be the most important thing he did in his life so far. He couldn’t take a single risk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luckily, his uncle left the house in decent condition so there were few chores that needed to be completed before Kurt could hide in his bedroom for the night and he managed to have them done a half an hour before his uncle was supposed to be home. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was almost done going through his essay, the soundtrack to Phantom of the Opera playing softly from his laptop speaker. The three designs he would be submitting were sitting on his desk. He felt a swell of pride a moment before his bedroom door burst open with a thunderous crash, the doorknob making a slight impression in the plaster as it hit the wall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt jumped out of his chair, his mind racing through the chores he’d done when he’d gotten home? What could he have missed? What would have made his uncle angry enough to come bursting into his room? This was the one place he knew he’d be safe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“W-what’s wrong?” Kurt asked, trying to remain calm though he could see the bulging vein in his uncle’s neck throb. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s wrong?” his Uncle Tim seethed, “What’s wrong is that I got a phone call from an Emma Pillsbury today at work. She wanted to talk about your behavior at school. She said she was worried that there may be some problems at home that could be causing you to distance yourself from others. Did you say something to someone Kurt?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“W-what? No. No, of course not,” Kurt said, mentally cursing the guidance counselor and then himself for not making sure she hadn’t made that phone call. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She mentioned the burn on your hand,” he said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She thinks I did it to myself,” Kurt said quickly, “She thinks I’m hurting myself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You did hurt yourself,” his uncle said taking two steps into the room, “If you weren’t so clumsy on your feet you wouldn’t have nearly fallen over when I accidentally brushed against you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And I accidentally threw myself into the bookshelf last month and the China cabinet six months ago.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kurt,” his uncle said as he continued to move further into the room, closer to Kurt, “If your school suspects others, I could lose everything. I’ve already uprooted my life for you when your father died. I will not lose my job or my house or my <em>life</em> because you can’t manage to handle yourself properly in social situations.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt’s uncle stood directly in front of Kurt now. Kurt braced himself for what could possibly happen. But Kurt’s heart stopped when his uncle picked up one of Kurt’s designs with his thumb and index finger as if it was diseased. Kurt wanted to jump up and rip the page for his uncle’s possession. It was like gold, precious, and essential for getting him away from here. Be he stood still, his eyes wide. But his panicked expression had given him away. Now, Tim knew that he held something precious to Kurt in his hands. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tim grabbed the design with his other hand and with a fluid motion, tore it down the middle. Kurt’s jaw dropped, but he remained still as his uncle continued to rip the page to pieces before he threw them in Kurt’s face and turned towards the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop doodling and get a life,” he said slamming the door behind him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The moment the door was shut, Kurt bent to pick up the fallen pieces of his design and laid them back on the desk. He rushed to the door to lock it, angry with himself that he hadn’t hidden the pages better. That he hadn’t protected them more. He turned and slid down against the door, the tears he’d been holding back slipped down his cheeks. His design, his favorite of the three, had been ripped to be pieces. It had taken him three weeks to perfect it and it had only taken fifteen seconds for it to be destroyed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>From the floor, Kurt glanced at the clock next to his bed. It was just after six. He needed to leave for school by eight if he wanted to get to the post office before classes. That gave him fourteen hours. Wiping the tears from his cheeks, Kurt took a deep breath and went to his desk. He picked through the pieces of his design and placed them back together, reassembling it like a puzzle, mending each piece with scotch tape until it was a ragged version of what it once was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt moved his laptop from the desk, then pulled out a blank sheet of paper and set it next to his destroyed creation. Pulling a pencil from the cup on his desk, Kurt began recreating the design the best he could. He would have the design ready to go before he left for school in the morning. He would not let this incident destroy him or his plans. He had fourteen hours to make everything right again. And he’d stay up all night if he had to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>*** </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt had spent no more than thirty minutes in his bed. But he didn’t do much more than toss and turn on top of his comforter. He was afraid that if he fell asleep, he would oversleep and after all the work he’d done, the hours he’d spent recreating his design, there was no way he was going to miss the only opportunity to get his application in the mail. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had just enough time to shower and get to the post office before he dragged himself into the crowded halls of McKinley. He hadn’t done any of the work he needed to do and his eyelids were so heavy he was sure to fall asleep in at least one of his classes. It was officially the worst first week of school ever. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he approached his locker, he barely registered that Blaine was at his. Kurt forced himself to get the lock open and when he took a step backward, the ground beneath his was suddenly unstable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whoa,” Blaine said as Kurt swayed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He would have fallen had Blaine not grabbed him, hand on his waist. Kurt seemed hypersensitive to the warmth that emitted from Blaine’s touch. It felt good. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>When was the last time someone had touched him gently?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The shock of it all made Kurt aware that he was in fact in school, at his locker, and that the new kid was holding him around the waist. He stood up straight and took a step back, out of Blaine’s hold. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh,” he stuttered, “Thanks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You look like you could use some sleep,” Blaine said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt couldn’t imagine what he looked like. He hadn’t done a thing to his hair, his outfit was likely not his most inventive. He’d tried to conceal the massive luggage he was carrying underneath his eyes with makeup, but it apparently wasn’t doing his job. Blaine had essentially just told him he looked like shit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll be fine,” Kurt said, wondering how bad the school coffee tasted. Or if he even mattered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a little early in the school year for all-nights isn’t it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was finishing a project,” Kurt said, too tired to fight off Blaine’s friendliness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Must have been pretty important,” Blaine said exchanging his books from his back to his locker. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have no idea,” Kurt said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll see you in English,” Blaine said adjusting the shoulder strap on his bag before he clapped his hand down on Kurt's shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then Blaine walked away leaving Kurt with a feeling that wrapped itself tightly around Kurt’s heart. It was something he’d felt before, mostly in the last twelve months, but he never let himself feel it long enough to name it. But in his vulnerable state, Kurt called the feeling by its name. He called it loneliness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>*** </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine never asked Rachel any more questions about her relationship with Kurt and he knew better than to bring it up with the other boy. Blaine had made it through the first week at a new school. He’d made new friends in New Directions, even became their male lead. And the most surprising thing to happen that week was the growing curiosity he’d developed about the boy whose locker was next to his. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The same boy came crashing into the bank of lockers before English on Friday afternoon. Blaine watched as Kurt’s head crashed in the ventilation slots carved into the metal doors. Blaine turned to see the two boys from earlier the week—whose names he learned were Azimio and Karofsky. When he turned back to Kurt, there was a tiny trickle of blood flowing down the right side of Kurt’s face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re bleeding,” Blaine said, shocked, gesturing toward the right side of his own face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt put his hand up to his forehead and winced as his head came away red. Sighing in frustration, Kurt turned immediately on his heels and headed down the hallway. Blaine immediately shut the door to his locker and followed Kurt right into the boy’s bathroom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you alright?” Blaine asked Kurt who was in front of the mirror examining the tiny cut on his temple. Blaine had lost count of the times he’d asked him that already this week.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go away, Blaine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you need me to get the nurse?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go away, Blaine!” Kurt shouted his eyes still on the mirror as he wet a brown paper towel and held it above his eye. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can’t get mad at me for making you’re all right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can handle it,” Kurt said monotone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I never said you couldn’t. But this is kind of a big deal—everything that’s happening to you—the bullying. I get to make sure that you’re all right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why do you even care? You don’t even know me,” Kurt said letting a tiny laugh escape his lips, “But I’m sure that now that you’ve joined New Directions Rachel had told you everything. Whatever you think you know, you don’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think I know anything,” Blaine said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt finally turned to look at him, “Then why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because I-I’ve been there. I get it. I’ve lived it,” Blaine said, “You’re not the only kid in this school that’s been thrown around for being gay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Blaine, we’re not—“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Friends,” Blaine said, “I heard you. But I’d like for us to at least be something. Civil?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt sighed, “I’m sorry I’ve been an ass.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Again, I get it,” Blaine said, “We don’t have to be friends. We can be…I don’t know. Locker buddies. We can only talk while we’re at our lockers. We don’t even really need to talk. But it's better than wasting all that energy on pretending that I don’t exist, don’t you think?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Locker buddies?” Kurt questioned, “We’re not six.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Locker friends? Locker Mates?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Those are all ridiculous.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just go with it, Kurt,” Blaine said, the smallest hint of a smile on his face, “So are you in?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Kurt said, picking up his bag from the floor and storming out of the bathroom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The smile fell from Blaine’s face. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>The temperature was beginning to rise as winter finally began releasing Lima from its tight hold as the month turned from March to April and it finally began to feel like spring. It was evident by the immediate appearance of shorter sleeves, pants, and anything else that could be condensed and still pass the school's dress code. Rachel sauntered into school, her pink trolley rolling behind her in a brand new skirt that she and Kurt picked out the week before. She had been waiting for the weather to be just right before she paired it with her favorite green blouse and the gorgeous Star of David necklace her fathers had given her for Hanukah. Kurt had mentioned how amazing it would look on her and she was proud to show off her first Kurt Hummel created outfit. She beamed as she found her best friend at his locker and called his name from down the hall.</em>
</p><p>
  
  <em>Kurt looked to see his best friend at the mouth of the hallway, coming towards him with an extra spring her step. He gave her a quick look over and the corner of his mouth turned upward. He'd taken his advice on the ensemble and he'd somehow managed to turn her usually tragic wardrobe into something that complimented his friend. She was really a beautiful girl; she just sometimes managed to dress like a toddler and an elderly woman at the same time. It was usually discouraging for Kurt since his eye and passion for fashion made him want to drag her and her dads' credit card to the mall and buy her new clothes before burning the animal sweaters. But Kurt had settled on using what was already in Rachel's closet and made it…bearable to look at. And as Rachel approached him, he knew he was on the right track.</em>
</p><p>"<em>Looking fierce Ms. Berry," Kurt said as Rachel stopped in front of him then did a full 360-degree turn.</em></p><p>"<em>Thank you," Rachel said doing a tiny curtsey, "I have a fabulous new stylist. He could work miracles."</em></p><p>"<em>Don't I know it," Kurt said placing a book into his locker.</em></p><p>"<em>What about you?" Rachel said tugging at the hem of Kurt's long-sleeved white t-shirt, with the sleeves pushed up just a little. He'd paired amazingly with a grey vest and a pair of black jeans, "I thought this would have been a perfect moment to show off that amazing shirt you bought last week."</em></p><p>"<em>Oh, uh—," Kurt said not looking Rachel in the eye, "I'm saving it for another day."</em></p><p>"<em>Okay," Rachel said tugging again on the hem of Kurt's shirt, "but why are you wearing this? It's much too warm out."</em></p><p>"<em>I didn't check the weather before I left the house," Kurt said as he began fumbling through the books in his locker, "I was running late so by the time I realized it was going to be too warm, there wasn't any time to go back and redesign today's outfit."</em></p><p>"<em>You could at least roll this up a little more," Rachel said tugging at the left sleeve of the shirt then paused when something caught her eye, "What is that?"</em></p><p>
  <em>Kurt froze and Rachel pulled at his sleeve until she could have a better look. Blemishing Kurt's usually perfect skin were several bruises, all fresh, all screaming against his pale skin in blues and purples.</em>
</p><p>"<em>Kurt," Rachel said panicked, "What happened?"</em></p><p>"<em>It's nothing," Kurt said pulling Rachel's hand from his sleeve before pulling the bottom down a little farther.</em></p><p>"<em>Kurt," Rachel said, "those look like someone's fingers; like someone grabbed you. Was it Karofsky?"</em></p><p>"<em>No," Kurt said quickly, "It's nothing, just drop it."</em></p><p>"<em>Kurt," Rachel said her eyes glassy with an army of tears ready to fall to her cheeks.</em></p><p>"<em>Rachel," Kurt interrupted, "It's nothing, just an accident. They'll go away so please don't bring them up again."</em></p><p>
  <em>Rachel looked up into the eyes of her best friend. They were terrified, pleading with her for once just to let it go. Rachel nodded reluctantly.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>When Rachel went to meet Kurt at his locker the next morning, the moment he spotted her he turned up his nose, adjusted the strap on his bag, and walked away. No words were exchanged; he just left Rachel bewildered and hurt in the middle of the hallway. Rachel tried approaching him between as many classes as she could, but he either wasn't at his locker or took off again the moment he heard her calling from down the hallway. She'd sent countless text messages throughout the day and when Kurt didn't show up for Glee rehearsal, she called him immediately but received nothing but his voicemail.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Rachel spent what time she wasn't in class or trying to track Kurt down, trying to figure out what she'd done wrong to make Kurt ignore her the way he was. The last time he'd been like this with her was when she'd accidentally scratched the copy of the Wicked soundtrack and he didn't talk to her until she purchased him a new one.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>But Rachel wasn't currently in possession of any of his things and they were fine when they'd parted the day before after Glee. Still, she couldn't get him to stop running away every time she approached.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Rachel and Kurt had been friends since first grade. Rachel had moved to Lima with her dads and was starting Lima Elementary in the middle of the school year. On her very first day she saw a boy, sitting by himself on the playground. There was a book on his lap but Rachel sat down next to him, introduced herself, and then they just became friends. It wasn't long after that that that the teasing began for both of them. Kurt and Rachel would have tea parties instead of playing hopscotch with the other girls or football with the boys. But together they'd managed to get through elementary school, then junior high school, and they were determined to finish high school and leave Lima for good.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Rachel wondered why Kurt would act the way he was towards her when they'd been through so much. Rachel asked the other members of New Direction if they'd spoken to Kurt, but found that her best friend seemed to be avoiding everyone. He wasn't at lunch and all text messages were going unanswered.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Rachel continued her attempts at contacting Kurt over the weekend, trying every method of communication and social media except for actually showing up on his doorstep. There was one thing that kept her for 7625 Windsor Street and that was Uncle Tim. When Kurt's dad died, Uncle Tim created a strict rule that none of Kurt's friends were to come over to the house under any circumstances. Rachel had always gotten a weird vibe from the man and didn't dare risk angering him. Kurt had said that he was just having trouble adjusting to his new role as guardian and had no idea how to handle teenagers.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Monday morning, after two days of constant text messages and voicemails, Rachel searched the crowded hallways for Kurt once more. She had yet to locate him when Mr. Shuester, their choir direction, approached her.</em>
</p><p>"<em>Rachel," he said, "Can I talk to you in my office?"</em></p><p>"<em>Mr. Shuester," Rachel said, "I promise I will give you my undivided attention as soon as I find Kurt."</em></p><p>"<em>Rachel, I need to talk to you," Mr. Shuester said, pausing only for a moment, "about Kurt."</em></p><p>
  <em>Rachel went quiet, giving her teacher her full attention as she followed Mr. Shuester to his office. At his request, Rachel took a seat in front of his desk while the Glee director sat behind his desk, messing around with some papers before looking at Rachel</em>
</p><p>"<em>Rachel," Mr. Shuester said, "Kurt came to me this morning and told me he would be quitting Glee club."</em></p><p>"<em>What? Why?"</em></p><p>"<em>He just said that it was personal," Mr. Shuester said, "And—and he asked me to ask you to keep your distance from him. At least for now."</em></p><p>"<em>He didn't tell you why?" Rachel exclaimed, "Mr. Shuester, I don’t understand what is going on. This is all very unlike Kurt."</em></p><p>"<em>I agree with you Rachel," Mr. Shuester explained, "But if Kurt is going through something personal, we have to respect that."</em></p><p>"<em>I don't like it," Rachel said pouting, her arms crossed across her chest.</em></p><p>"<em>You don't have to. But you really should respect Kurt's wishes."</em></p><p>
  <em>Rachel huffed annoyed but then a moment later the tears began racing down her face. Her best friend was going through something that he couldn't tell her about. He was shutting her out and had to have their teacher tell her to stay away. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Something was wrong. Nothing made sense. But Mr. Shuester was right; there was nothing more to than respect Kurt's choices and wait around for him to come back to her.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Almost eighteen months later she was still waiting.</em>
</p><p>*** </p><p>A month later Blaine had made his ridiculous (yet brilliant) suggestion that he and Kurt become ‘locker buddies, things only seemed to get tenser between them. Blaine was certain Kurt was ignoring him since only once had they both been at their lockers at the same time. But even when they were, Blaine made no effort to talk to Kurt. He’d put the bait out there, it would be up to Kurt to take it if he wanted something between them to change. But, even in his absence, Blaine found himself becoming more intrigued by Kurt. He wanted to know why he was going out of his way to avoid him and so reluctant to accept any form of kindness from Blaine. Or anyone. </p><p>Blaine walked into the choir room for Glee rehearsal and took his seat next to Rachel. Sectionals were coming up in a couple of weeks and Rachel was very adamant that they add in extra practices. This was why Blaine wasn't surprised a bit when, just as Mr. Shuester entered the room, Rachel jumped from her seat and announced that they would be having a practice Saturday afternoon. This was met with a chorus of aggravated groans but Rachel continued on by reminding them that this was the year to beat Vocal Adrenaline and win Nationals and the atmosphere shifted and excitement began to blow through the room like a wind.</p><p>Blaine had only heard of Vocal Adrenaline while he’d been at Dalton, but the members of New Directions had an intense hatred for the Caramel High team. But Blaine admired their determinations to win and as their male lead, Blaine was happy to help them achieve their first national championship however he could. Even if that meant giving up part of his Saturday. </p><p>Saturday rehearsal started at eight sharp in the auditorium and by the time they finished running through eight different numbers just before lunchtime, Blaine was exhausted. But they’d made a lot of progress and he felt good about the work they’d done. As everyone else began to head to the parking lot, Blaine sat down next to Rachel where she sat on the stage. </p><p>"I know you want to ask me about him?" Rachel said taking a sip from her pink plastic water bottle.</p><p>"Huh?"</p><p>"Kurt," Rachel said, "I know you want to know about him."</p><p>"I'm just trying to figure out why he hates me," Blaine explained.</p><p>"He doesn't hate you," Rachel said, "Kurt's never really hated anyone in his entire life."</p><p>"You seem so sure," he said.</p><p>"I've known Kurt Hummel since we were six," Rachel told Blaine, "I was there when his mom died, and then his dad. I was the first person he came out to. I know him better than anybody."</p><p>"But he's shutting you out? You know him so well but he just stops talking to you one day and you have no idea why."</p><p>"I don't know what's going on with him, Blaine," Rachel said her voice rising a bit, "It was just like he decided we weren't friends anymore."</p><p>"So who is he friends with?" Blaine asked.</p><p>"No one," Rachel stated, "Not that I know of."</p><p>"So he just ignores everyone? Talks to no one?"</p><p>“I think so,” Rachel said, “Blaine, it was like a switch had flipped. One day he was Kurt. He was criticizing everyone’s outfit, including my own. We were planning a weekend of movies and makeovers. Singing duets in Glee club. And then the next day, it was like Kurt was gone. I mean, he still looked like Kurt, but his larger than life personality just vanished. It was like he’d been replaced by someone else and that person hasn’t looked me in the eye in over a year. He was my best friend, Blaine. And now he’s a stranger.”</p><p>Blaine could hear the waver in Rachel's voice as she spoke of the friend, the best friend, she once had. It was obviously hard for her to think of her friendship with Kurt as something in the past. But with a tiny sniffle and a deep breath, Rachel managed to keep her composure while fighting the tears and missing Kurt.</p><p>“I don’t know what happened to him, Blaine,” she said, “But I miss him every single day. But I do know that he doesn’t hate you and that the Kurt Hummel you met isn’t who he really is.”</p><p>*** </p><p>Since the first time Uncle Tim had gotten physical with him, Kurt had begun classifying his days into good days and bad days. Good days were those where he managed to avoid Uncle Tim completely or managed to retreat to his bedroom with little to no contact. Kurt had considered the day he burned his hand to be a good day.</p><p>Kurt’s first sign that today would be a bad day was that Uncle Tim’s car sitting in the driveway when he got home from school. It was rare for his uncle to leave work early unannounced. Kurt stood like a statue at the end of the driveway. Every part of him was screaming for him to turn around, to run away. But he didn’t have anywhere else to go, no friend’s house to escape to. He had to go home. Even if he could go somewhere else, delaying whatever was waiting for him would only make his uncle angrier. So, he took a deep breath and mentally prepared himself for whatever was coming his way. His feet felt like lead as they carried him up the driveway and through the front door. </p><p>When Kurt walked into the house, Uncle Tim was nowhere in sight. There was an eerie quietness in the house, the only sounds were Kurt's heart beating frantically in his chest and the thoughts swimming through his mind as he forced himself to become hyper-aware of his surroundings. The sound of glass shattering broke the silence and increased the tension in the air. Kurt stayed planted in front of the door, unsure of what to do. His hands began to tremble so he clasped them together over his stomach; it didn't help. </p><p>Another crash echoed through the house and Kurt’s heart went into overdrive as he realized that the sounds were coming from his bedroom. Without much thought, Kurt hurried up the stairs until he was standing outside his bedroom, the door wide open. </p><p>What Kurt saw was much worse than anything he could have imagined. His once well-kept room now looked like it had been destroyed by a tornado. The drapes had been pulled down from the rod now bent in front of the window. His closet was open and most of his clothes had been removed and now lay in various places around the room, undoubtedly wrinkled. What was once his bedside lamp now lay in pieces underneath the place where his Wicked poster once hung on the wall.</p><p>Kurt stood, wide-eyed but silent, as his uncle stood in the middle of the bedroom throwing Kurt's hamper onto the floor before punting it towards the wall. Kurt spied his easel, which had several new designs on it, on the ground, the pages wrinkled and torn beside it.</p><p>When Uncle Tim stopped suddenly, it took Kurt a moment to stop taking in the damage that had been done to his room and to his things and notice the fury in his uncle’s eyes as they focused on him.</p><p>"You," Uncle Tim spat taking three steps to the threshold where Kurt stood stunned. Uncle Tim grabbed hold of Kurt's right arm and dragged him into the room, letting go only to send him crashing into the side of the desk before Kurt could stop himself.</p><p>"This is your fault," Uncle Tim shouted even though he was three feet from Kurt who opened his mouth to question Uncle Tim, but decided against it as the other man continued, "I could have had it good. But I got stuck with a dead-end job in Lima because your father wanted you to stay here with your friends. I couldn't go to Columbus like I'd wanted. So instead of having the job of my dreams, I have no job at all."</p><p>Kurt's eyes widened at his uncle’s words. Not so much at the confession that Uncle Tim had lost his job, but for the realization of what that meant for Kurt. It meant that his uncle would no longer disappear to work during the day. He would be home all day, doing God only knew what. He would be there when Kurt got home, undoubtedly drunk. Kurt offered no apology because there wasn't anything Kurt could say that would be genuine. The only one he felt apologetic for was himself.</p><p>His uncle must have taken offense to Kurt's silence because he grabbed him by his upper arms and threw him into the wall sending Kurt's head crashing into the drywall. The wall had been much gentler than the metal lockers he'd been thrown into earlier that day. But Uncle Tim didn't let go, instead, he thrust Kurt in the opposite direction. Kurt's feet became caught in his comforter that was now on the floor, sending his body crashing into the carpet.</p><p>Kurt cried out at the intense pain that shot through his right arm when he landed. Panicked, he rolled over to remove his body weight from his arm and froze. Thankfully, his arm wasn’t broken, but instead, there was a rather large piece of light bulb now embedded in his arm just above his wrist. </p><p>Kurt looked up at his uncle with wild eyes, his face twisted in pain, his arm cradled against his chest as he lay on the floor. He tried to brace himself for whatever came next, but it was hard to anticipate the next move, And now he was injured. </p><p>"Good," Uncle Tim said looking down at Kurt, "Now you feel a little bit of what I'm feeling."</p><p>Uncle Tim lifted his foot then kicked Kurt forcefully in the stomach. Kurt's eyes closed and he groaned as the air left his lungs. He braced himself for more, but the next shot never came. So he just lay there with his eyes closed, breathing through the pain. </p><p> When Kurt opened his eyes he found his uncle standing in the middle of the room, his back towards Kurt. He was breathing heavily as he ran his hands through his hair.</p><p>"Clean up this room," Uncle Tim muttered as he walked out of the room, slamming the door behind him.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Kurt was relieved when Blaine was not at his locker when Kurt arrived at his Monday morning. He was in a relatively good mood even though his uncle had now been unemployed for two weeks, and had done nothing but sit in front of the television and drink until he either passed out or went to harass Kurt. Thankfully, the harassment had mostly been shouting obscenities from the hallway and not much more. </p>
<p>The cut on Kurt’s arm probably required a doctor, but it was beginning to heal all right and there was only a fist-sized bruise on his stomach that was beginning to hurt hideous shades of yellow and green. As usual, being at school took a bit of the weight of everything off of his shoulders. At school, he could take a deep breath and focus on getting through what was left of high school. It wasn’t an entirely safe space due to Karofsky and Azimio regularly taunting him or pushing him around, but he was a small fish in a big sea here. Mostly unseen, mostly left alone. Unlike the house he lived in, where he was the only target for one shark. </p>
<p>But whatever relief he got from being at school seemed to disappear completely these days the second he saw Blaine. Whether it was in class or at their lockers, something flickered inside him whenever he was around. Blaine’s presence made him want to run away. Flee to avoid any kind of interaction. The tension between them had become palpable, at least to Kurt, since the day Kurt had walked away from Blaine in the bathroom. They both seemed determined to not even look at the other and were now doing exactly what Blaine had accused Kurt of: wasting effort ignoring the other. </p>
<p>Kurt was well aware that he could easily just be cordial with Blaine while they were at their lockers during the school year. He could make small talk about the weather or the terrible food they served in the cafeteria. It had been so long since Kurt had any kind of interaction with another person who genuinely seemed to care about talking to him, that sometimes he craved it. But any time he thought about reaching out to Blaine, about letting his very high guard down just a little, he would remember. His cut would sting, or his bully would call him a name as he passed by. Something would always remind Kurt why he kept everyone at a distance; why he kept himself from leaving any track marks in Lima. </p>
<p>The reminder today was the letter he’d thrown in his bag that morning. It was tucked inside a seal number 10 regular envelope with the Parsons New School for Design logo boldly in the top left-hand corner. It weighed almost nothing, but inside Kurt’s bag it felt like the weight of a boulder. Inside the envelope was his future. It was a yes or a no as to whether or not Kurt got out of Lima on an airplane. Everything he’d been working toward since his dad died call came down to whatever was typed onto that piece of paper. </p>
<p>He hadn’t slept much the night before. He’d spent hours just staring at the envelope, knowing that it would only take moments for him to open it and put himself out of his misery. He imagined that the letter would say: <em>Dear, Mr. Hummel,</em> it would start, <em>We regret to inform you that your application to Parsons New School for Design has been rejected...</em></p>
<p>The thought of Parsons rejecting him made his heart pound and his skin grow clammy. There wasn’t enough money saved to make it in New York without Parsons; there was barely enough to make it with the school and the scholarship. Kurt listened to his uncle’s snoring crescendo as he slept in the next room, reminding Kurt of all the reasons he needed to get out of Lima and exactly what being rejected would mean for him. </p>
<p>Kurt spent the other part of his sleepless night imagining what it would mean if the letter read a little differently: <em>Dear Mr. Hummel, </em>it would start, <em>Congratulations! We are pleased to inform you that your early admission to Parsons New School for Design for the fall semester, 2012. </em></p>
<p>These daydreams caused Kurt’s heart to swell and his skin to vibrate with excitement. He imagined the first thing he would do was call the admissions office and formally accept their offer. He wondered if he could book his plane ticket eight months in advance. He imagined what it would be like getting off the plane in New York City, two bags to his name and a couple hundred dollars in his pocket. Exploring the city wouldn’t cost a penny and Kurt imagined that he would spend hours during the summer walking through the streets and the parks, gaping up at the skyscrapers, learning to call this new place his home. Finally finding one after all the years he’d had a house, but never a home. </p>
<p>But now, in Lima, the letter sat unopened inside Kurt’s bag. He’d find somewhere quiet later to open it. If it really was a rejection, his uncle’s house already had enough bad memories in it. If Kurt didn’t get in, he didn’t want to add another to the list. </p>
<p>*** </p>
<p>Blaine’s first competition as the male lead of New Directions went a lot better than he’d imagined it would. </p>
<p>For starters, <em>they won.</em></p>
<p>Blaine had only been them for a couple of months, and when Rachel had warned him that they could sometimes be a little…dysfunctional, Blaine just thought she meant that they sometimes didn’t get along. He’d seen them snap and bicker at each other during rehearsals, it was common. </p>
<p>But what Blaine hadn’t been prepared for was for Santana charging at Rachel, shouting at her in Spanish, while Mike, Quinn, and Sam held her back while Rachel stood frozen, silent, and dare he say it, scared. He had no idea what had caused the explosion, but it had been both frightening and a little entertaining to watch. </p>
<p>A moment later, Mrs. Shuester walked into the room, broke up the argument, and gave a speech about perseverance and hard work, and the entire dynamic of the room changed. Like a switch had been flipped, everyone became focused and moments later everyone was on stage as a single unit as passionately as they had just been arguing. It was all so strange to Blaine. The Warblers had always been more relaxed and there was never any fighting. But by the time the New Directions got back on the bus, the <em>winners, </em>they were hugging and singing and loving each other. They were a family. </p>
<p>Blaine sat with Rachel on the way home. While he’d made friends with everyone else in the club, it was Rachel that he felt the closest to despite their slightly over the top introduction. She placed her head on his shoulder as the bus began to bring them back to McKinley.</p>
<p>“Why do all the best guys in my life turn out to love other boys?” Rachel asked. </p>
<p>Blaine laughed, “I don’t love any boys.”</p>
<p>“You know what I mean,” Rachel said snuggling closer to Blaine, “You two would make a lovely couple.”</p>
<p>“Who?” Blaine said turning his head away from the window to give Rachel a very bewildered look.</p>
<p>“Kurt, silly,” Rachel said, not looking at Blaine, but directly ahead of her. But Blaine could see the tears start to form in her eyes, “Your personalities really complement each other.”</p>
<p>“Rachel,” Blaine said, playfully nudging Rachel with his shoulder, ignoring her comments, “You’re ruining our celebration with your tears.”</p>
<p>“I’d give it all up for Kurt were back here with us,” he said, voice cracking. </p>
<p>There were two things about Rachel’s words that shocked him. The first is that she would sacrifice their win for another person. Not that Blaine believed that Rachel was entirely cold-hearted, but most of the time Rachel Berry seemed to focus on nothing else but winning. The second thing…</p>
<p>“Kurt was in Glee?” Blaine questioned. </p>
<p>“Yep,” Rachel said finally looking up at Blaine, “He sings like an angel. His passion is fashion, but he was my only real competition in his club.”</p>
<p>“Now you’ve got me,” he told her in a miserable attempt to find the silver lining in her heartbreak. But Blaine knew without knowing Rachel for very long, without knowing Kurt at all, that he was a poor substitute. </p>
<p>“Now, I’ve got you,” Rachel said, wrapping her arms around Blaine’s bicep and pressing her face into his shirt.</p>
<p>“I know you miss him,” Blaine said pressing his cheek to the top of Rachel’s head. </p>
<p>“Sometimes,” she said wiping away the single tear that had rolled down her cheek, “When I see him, I miss him. When I want to watch Funny Girl for the thousandth time and Mercedes won’t watch with me, I miss him. But sometimes I forget a used to have a best friend named Kurt Hummel. But then I remember and it's like I’ve lost him all over again.”</p>
<p>“Do you think you’ll ever stop missing him altogether?”</p>
<p>Rachel sighed, “Next year, I’ll be in New York. I have no idea where he’ll be, but I like to think it’ll be easier to forget him if the memory of him gets lost in the crowd of a million New Yorkers.”</p>
<p>They’re both quiet after that, tucked into their seat together with their thoughts as the rest of New Directions started a Disney sing-a-long in the front of the bus.</p>
<p>*** </p>
<p>Kurt wasn’t sure what had brought him to the auditorium. He’d come during lunch and sat on the lip of the stage, his feet dangling over the edge. He just sat there for a while, leaning back on his hands, looking around the empty space. It was nothing more than an empty stage and vacant chairs, but there were so many memories swirling around him. Maybe that was what had brought Kurt there subconsciously. Part of it was the quiet; the solitude that it provided. But he knew inside him, that the other part was because this space had once been a home for Kurt. It was a place he’d felt safe. </p>
<p>He’d joined the New Directions his freshman year at Rachel’s insistence. And then for the nearly two years that Kurt was part of that group, that family, he’d spent countless hours on the currently barren stage. Even before everything started getting bad with his uncle, Kurt had felt like he’d lost the last of his family when his dad died. His uncle was never the most affectionate of people and he’d barely known him before he gained custody of Kurt. So, he always felt more like a babysitter than a member, the now only living member, of his family. By the time New Directions had made it through their first sectionals competition, Kurt had felt it. He could feel that the twelve of them were quickly becoming a family. <em>His</em> family.</p>
<p>But things had changed. </p>
<p>Kurt pushed away the heavy feeling in his chest and focused on why he’d come to the auditorium in the first place. There were less than two hundred days left until graduation; until he could escape and Lima would become nothing more than a distant memory and there would be nothing that could make him look back. But first, he had to open the letter. </p>
<p>Kurt pulled the envelope that had been sitting untouched all morning, taunting him even when he couldn’t see it. He held the envelope in his hands for a moment, studying it. He recited wishes over and over in his head. Wishes that something inside the letter would shine just a little bit of light on his future. He wished that inside was an acceptance from the college of his dreams. He wished for the contents of the letter to carry him out of Lima. </p>
<p>Kurt ripped the seal, not caring that the paper of the envelope’s once smooth edges was now ragged and in pieces. He pulled the letter out carefully, took a deep breath, and shot a final plea into the universe before unfolding the trifold page. </p>
<p><em>Dear Mr. Hummel, </em>it began, <em>Thank you for applying to Parsons New School of Design. The Admissions Committee has reviewed all applicants and we regret that we are unable to offer you admission at this time. However, given your impressive portfolio, we would like to offer you a place on our waiting list.</em></p>
<p>Kurt read the words over and over, trying to figure out exactly what they meant. He’d only ever considered the answer from Parsons to be yes or no. He’d never even thought of the kind of, sort of, maybe response he’d gotten. All he needed now was someone to pass up the chance to go to Parsons and he was in. But only an idiot would pass up admission into Parsons; they might as well had told him no. But the words ‘waiting list’ seemed to be a bit of hope, so Kurt grabbed on. Maybe someone would get hit by a bus and the spot would open up. Maybe there was a person out there about to make the biggest mistake of their life so that Kurt would get the only chance he had at making something of himself. </p>
<p>Kurt blew out a deep breath. There was nothing to celebrate over, but his dreams hadn’t been destroyed yet. So he kept his emotions neutral. There was nothing he could do now but wait. His future was now out completely out of his control. And for a little while, he just sat there trying to wrap his head around it all. </p>
<p>He stood when he heard the bell ringing from outside the auditorium walls. He’d just have to go on as he planned. Get through the school year and then he’d be out of there. He’d just have to wait a little longer he figured out how.</p>
<p>Kurt pulled himself up from the stage floor, the letter from Parsons still in his hand. Just as he turned to leave, he heard the soft tap of footsteps against the hardwood floors of the stage and humming coming from somewhere behind the giant red curtain. Kurt froze for a moment, then eased just a bit when he recognized Blaine’s head of perfectly gelled hair. The familiar urge to bolt coursed through Kurt was Blaine noticed him, shocked to see the other boy, but with a kind smile on his face. And for a brief flickering moment, another feeling broke through Kurt’s flight instinct. Something warmed in the middle of his chest. It was new and it terrified Kurt, so he chose to ignore it. </p>
<p>“Hey,” Blaine said, taking a few steps to close some of the distance, “What are you doing here?”</p>
<p>Kurt bit down on his bottom lip, silent, but looked Blaine in the eye. Blaine’s eyes were an enchanting hazel and Kurt felt immediately even though Kurt had spent the last two and a half months trying to avoid Blaine, his eyes were without a hint of hostility. They were kind, accepting. And then they flinched. Kurt’s silence was yet another rejection of Blaine. </p>
<p>“Right,” Blaine said turning around. </p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” Kurt said, the words flying from his mouth without a second thought, his cheeks turning red from his guilt. Even though he could justify it to himself, he knew he was being a jerk. He knew that Blaine didn’t deserve the hurt feelings that were so clearly now showing on his face, “I came here to hide from all the noise out there. It’s peaceful in here.”</p>
<p>“It is,” Blaine said turning around. When Kurt showed no sign of any further unfriendliness, Blaine asked a question, “What are you hiding from?”</p>
<p>“Everything,” Kurt answered after a moment, shrugging his shoulders, “I just needed someplace to hide where no one would find me”</p>
<p>Which was actually ridiculous since he knew the New Directions came in and out of there all day. </p>
<p>“I found you,” Blaine said. </p>
<p>And that was Kurt’s biggest problem with Blaine, wasn’t it? Kurt had been perfectly content with getting lost in the crowd of self-involved teenagers. He was fine that the only attention he got was from giant jocks who got bored when Kurt refused to play their game; to feed their egos by showing any sort of emotion. Getting lost in the crowd was what Kurt had wanted. He’d planned for it. He’s pushed away every single person that cared about him until he was utterly alone. It was the way he wanted it to be, at least until he got to New York. </p>
<p>“Yes, but you always keep showing up when all I want is for you to disappear,” Kurt said bitterly. </p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” Blaine said, turning away again. But this was how he pushed people away. This was how he got everyone to leave him alone. But somehow pushing Blaine away made him feel guiltier than it had for everyone else, including Rachel. </p>
<p>“Look, Blaine,” Kurt said, “I know you probably think that I’m the rudest person on the planet. But there are a lot of things you don’t know about me. Thank you for being so kind, but I’m not interested in what you’re trying to do.”</p>
<p>Blaine didn’t say anything, but when he looked back at Kurt, he gesturing toward the envelope in his hands, “Parsons?”</p>
<p>“What-, oh. Yeah. I applied for early admission,” Kurt confessed. Blaine was now the only other person who knew. That felt important. </p>
<p>“Did you get in?” he asked.</p>
<p>“Waitlisted,” Kurt said simply; like it wasn’t the most important decision that someone else was ever going to make regarding his life. </p>
<p>“Oh, I’m sorry,” Blaine said sincerely and with more sympathy than Kurt deserved from him, “Good luck, but that’s what backup plans are for, right?” </p>
<p>“Yeah,” Kurt said softly. </p>
<p>“Uh,” Blaine said looking around, “Rachel will be here any second. We’re rehearsing for regionals during lunch.”</p>
<p>“Weren’t sectionals just this past weekend?”</p>
<p>He’d been able to watch the live stream on Saturday. Just because he wasn’t a part of the family anymore, it didn’t mean he didn’t care. </p>
<p>“Yeah, well, Rachel’s really…” Blaine said pausing for a moment to search for the right word. </p>
<p>“Intense,” Kurt offered, “Ambitious, focused, relentless.”</p>
<p>Rachel Berry hadn’t changed a bit and no one knew his former best friend more than he did. </p>
<p>“Yes, all of that,” Blaine said laughing. </p>
<p>Before Kurt could think about it, the corners of his mouth were being pulled upward into the smallest hint of a smile. And it felt good. It made Kurt feel lighter. But then Rachel called for Blaine from somewhere backstage and everything dropped. Suddenly Kurt’s eyes were wide, panicked. </p>
<p>“I’ll see you later,” Kurt said, scolding himself for it a moment later as he walked swiftly from the auditorium before Rachel had the chance to see him. </p>
<p>*** </p>
<p>Friday afternoon, Blaine was at his locker after History. All he needed to do was get through Chemistry, and then English, and then he could head home. There was a small group of New Directions members who were going to the movies, and then out to Breadstix, and Blaine was looking forward to it. </p>
<p>He’d just shut his locker and spun the dial to secure the lock when Kurt walked up to his own locker. Kurt had been absent from school the day before and they hadn’t been at their lockers at the same time all day. Blaine glanced over at Kurt, taking in how tired the boy looked; as if a day at home hadn’t given him a chance to rest. There was a slight puffiness beneath his eyes. </p>
<p>For a moment, Blaine remembered Kurt as he’d found him a few days before in the auditorium. The brief smile that had crossed his face when talking about Rachel. It was like Blaine had seen a completely different person than the one that stood next to him now. It was his the slightest smile had transformed Kurt from the boy he was today to the best friend Rachel told Blaine of. There had been a hint of sparkle, a fire from somewhere within, in Kurt’s eyes. And when Rachel called his name, it was gone. The glimpse of the fire that burned inside Kurt had been drenched by the sound of his former best friend’s voice. Like Cinderella’s carriage turning back into a pumpkin.</p>
<p>“You weren’t here yesterday,” Blaine said. </p>
<p>It was a statement, but Kurt would hear the millions of questions buried inside it. <em>Why </em>weren’t you here? Are you alright? It had been all Rachel asked for days after he’d made his decision to cut himself from her life. </p>
<p>Kurt looked at Blaine as if they say <em>obviously</em>, but didn’t say a word. He had stayed home from school the day before, calling himself in by dropping his voice more than an octave and staying locked in his room all day. Wednesday had been a particularly bad day with his uncle. He’d been greeted by an angry Tim when he returned home from school. The older man had had a job interview that afternoon and Kurt quickly pieced together that it hadn’t gone very well. And, once again, it was Kurt’s fault. </p>
<p>As far as bad days go, this one had been mild. There were a couple of bruises hidden beneath Kurt’s layers of clothing, but his uncle had managed a forceful slap to Kurt’s right cheek. Red marks were easier to hide than bruises, but Kurt didn’t want to deal with the questions, specifically Blaine’s questions, if he showed up to school with a welt on his face. Thankfully, he managed to get the swelling down just enough to make himself look relatively normal.</p>
<p>“So,” Blaine continued despite Kurt’s silence, “I figured I would tell you now that we’ve been paired together for the English assignment.”</p>
<p>“What English assignment?” Kurt asked as he turned to look at Blaine, panicked. </p>
<p>“The one that was assigned while you were out,” Blaine told him.</p>
<p>“Oh,” Kurt responded, “And you didn’t pair with anyone else?”</p>
<p>Blaine shrugged, “No one wants to partner with the new kid.”</p>
<p>Kurt sighed. </p>
<p>“Look, I know this isn’t ideal for you,” Blaine said, “And I heard what you said the other day in the auditorium. But this is something that we have to do.”</p>
<p>After a moment of contemplating, Kurt looked at Blaine, “Fine,” he said adjusting his bag on his shoulder, “I’m tired of trying to convince you that I’m an asshole because it's clearly not working.”</p>
<p>Two months ago, Blaine might have smiled proudly, finally breaking through Kurt’s walls. But he knew that this wasn’t what Kurt wanted. He didn’t understand it, but it wasn’t like he could continue to think he was just hearing only the words Kurt wasn’t saying. </p>
<p>“But that’s all this is going to be,” Kurt said gesturing between them with his finger, “A working relationship that will dissolve as soon as the project is turned it. And then I promise not to act like such a jerk.”</p>
<p>“Deal,” Blaine said, “So, your house or mine?”</p>
<p>Kurt realized that staying out later after school meant there would be a greater chance of his uncle being completely wasted or angry when he got home. Maybe he could sneak in his window and convince his uncle that he’d been home all alone and he just never saw him. He’d find a way to make it work.</p>
<p>“The Lima Bean,” Kurt said thinking of the first meeting place that he could think that was close enough to the house, “or the library. It's your choice, but The Lima Bean has much better coffee.”</p>
<p>“Lima Bean it is,” Blaine said, “Start Monday after school?”</p>
<p>Kurt nodded even though he had no idea how he was going to pull it all off. It was quite possible that getting an A on this assignment would cost him more than the passing grade it was worth, but he knew he couldn’t fib his way out of this. Blaine’s grade was on the line too. The warning bell pulled Kurt from his frantic thoughts and back towards Blaine was smiling at him. He’d have the whole weekend to figure out how to do this.</p>
<p>“I’ll see you in class,” Blaine said before merging into the sea of students who were frantically moving towards their classes. </p>
<p>Kurt stood still next to his locker, his mind racing so fast he could hardly keep up. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized that he would just have to deal with whatever came like he’d one everything else in the last year and a half; face it head-on. And countdown the days until he could escape.</p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A warning for violence in this chapter.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>5 years ago…</em>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>Kurt had always been a fan of the dramatic. And when he thought about the day he would bury his father—not that he actually did that with any frequency—he always assumed that the sun would be behind thick grey clouds and the streets would be slick with rain. The world would look and feel the way Kurt felt. He thought he would be much older than twelve. There would be a large gathering of those they loved the most huddled together and crying as they lowered Burt Hummel’s casket into the ground. A somber atmosphere for the day Kurt put the most important person in his life to rest.</p>
<p>But there was none of that.</p>
<p>On the day Kurt buried his father it was cool and the sun was shining like it was just an ordinary Wednesday in October. Kurt imagined that for everyone else but himself, it was. While most people were waking up for work or school, Kurt had been shaken awake that morning by the Berry’s, in Rachel’s bed, and then silently and obediently got dressed in an all-black ensemble. He drove quietly in the back of the Berry’s car on the way to the church and walked silently behind Rachel’s dads to their spot in the first pew. </p>
<p>Around him was only a sea of quasi-familiar faces. People from around the neighborhood, the mechanics from his dad’s shop, and a couple of buddies he used to go high school with that still lived in the area. But that was it. There was not a single member of his family there because there wasn’t a single member of his family left. His mom had died four years ago and now his father was gone too. He’d been left with no one.</p>
<p>No one, except Rachel. It was Rachel who kept a firm grip on his hand the entire time the priest was speaking. It was Rachel who had held him close when he’d truly fallen apart for the first time the night before. Rachel, his best friend, and her amazing dads who had taken him in when his father had been rushed to the hospital. They’d been there for him ever since, and for the last six years if Kurt thought about it. He and Rachel always bragged how they were the luckiest kids in the world; they each got three fantastic fathers. And for a little while, Kurt had been happy to share his mother.</p>
<p>After watching them lower his father’s casket into the ground, Kurt had followed silently to the Berrys who were hosting a luncheon. The house around him was the only thing that felt familiar. His own life had been so utterly derailed that, especially at a young age, he wasn’t sure what to do, where to go, what came next. He had no idea what would happen to him once the day was over. Would they—whoever they were—let him live with the Berrys? They’d told him that if it was an option they wouldn’t hesitate to take it. He was practically their son anyway and Burt would have wanted it. Kurt tried to find comfort in their words but his mind kept wandering to other scenarios. Could he end up in foster care? Would he have to move away from Ohio? There were still six more years until he was old enough to have any control of his own life and Kurt just felt helpless.  </p>
<p>Kurt was lost in his thoughts when he felt a heavy hand on his shoulders. Pulling himself back to reality, Kurt looked up to see the hand belonged to Hiram Berry who was wearing one of the three-thousand sympathetic smiles he’d been receiving all day. Standing next to him was a man who looked vaguely familiar with his too-long shaggy brown hair and his green eyes. He was probably in his mid-to-late thirties. </p>
<p>“Kurt,” Hiram said, “Someone is here to see you.”</p>
<p>Kurt took a good look at the other man; maybe on a different day would have laughed at how absolutely terrified he looked. His eyes were wide and his face looked a little green. Beneath his black three-piece suit, the man’s entire body trembled. </p>
<p>“Hi, Kurt,” the man said, his voice small and unsure, “You don’t remember me do you?”</p>
<p>But Kurt did. The moment he’d looked into the man’s eyes and they reminded him of his dad, he knew. But the last time Kurt had seen him he’d been about five,</p>
<p>“You’re my dad’s brother,” he said softly, “My uncle Tim.”</p>
<p>“Yup,” was all Tim replied.</p>
<p>“Kurt,” Hiram said, “Your uncle would like you to go live with him. He’s just bought a house in Lima so that you can stay here and go to school with Rachel and your friends.”</p>
<p>The words thrust Kurt out of his fog for the first time in days. He became alert and absolutely terrified. </p>
<p>“But I thought I was going to stay with you?” Kurt said looking bewildered at Hiram. </p>
<p>“You’re welcome here anytime, Kurt. You know that. But your Father never named a guardian for you. And as your only living relative, your uncle has agreed to take you in. It’s what your father would have wanted. You should be with your family.”</p>
<p>He didn’t argue that they’d said the same thing about him staying with the Berrys.</p>
<p>He didn’t scream that he had absolutely no familial feelings toward the man in front of him. He didn’t debate what his father would’ve wanted. </p>
<p>From what Kurt had been told, Tim Hummel was the exact opposite of his older brother Burt. Burt liked sports and cars and Tim liked money and girls. Kurt remembered a time when his dad actually called him a playboy who had no desire to have a family. Tim Hummel was to Kurt nothing more than a cautionary tale.</p>
<p>But he’d been contacted after Burt had died and he was now in the Berry’s living room, the only one, it seemed, willing to be his guardian. Whatever that meant. Kurt just nodded because he wasn’t sure what else he could do.</p>
<p>Living with Uncle Tim was awkward at first. He and Kurt were virtually strangers and it was clear that Tim had no idea how to raise a twelve-year-old boy. In the beginning, Kurt got gifts because it was Thursday, his uncle not knowing how to show support without money. They stayed that way for years. </p>
<p>But one-day things changed like a shift in the wind. It was sudden, but it wasn’t all at once. It started with the introduction of house rules: Kurt wasn’t allowed to have friends over—mostly, meaning Rachel; there was a list of chores that had to be done right away after school. At first, Kurt accepted the new rules without much argument. He didn’t like them, but his father hadn’t raised him to be a slob and to do his part around the house. He was sixteen, not an idiot. </p>
<p>But then he had his first bad day. </p>
<p>When Kurt walked into the house after a long afternoon of Glee rehearsals it was immediately apparent there was something different about the house; like the air carried something different within its invisible particles. A moment later, Uncle Tim came into the room, shouting about curfews and things not being clean. And as most teenagers did, Kurt lashed out, delivering sharp-tongued responses to his uncle until the only sting that remained was the one across Kurt’s left cheek. Even after his uncle’s hand connected with his face, Kurt could feel where the forceful collision of force and flesh had met. It was sure to be red for a while. </p>
<p>After that, Kurt disappeared into his room for the rest of the night and by morning everything seemed back to how it was. But two weeks later, Kurt walked into the house, angry because Karofsky had slushied him at school and no matter how hard he’d tried, he hadn’t been able to rinse all the syrup out of his hair. He had just wanted to shower and get some sketching in before he started on his homework. But when he stepped over the threshold, his uncle pounced on him like he’d been waiting all day just for that moment. </p>
<p>His uncle started shouting at Kurt, accusing him of taking the watch Kurt’s grandfather had given him. Kurt had never seen the watch but stayed quiet as his uncle became more irrational, shouting about dishes in the sink and when Kurt’s eyes flickered toward the sink and the dishes he knew he’d done before school that morning, he caught sight of the line of empty beer bottles on the counter next to the stove. As his uncle stepped toward him, Kurt would smell the wretched stench of the alcohol seemingly coming from his pores. He wanted to vomit. How long had his uncle been home? How much had he really had to drink?</p>
<p>The next thing Kurt comprehended, there were two very strong arms on his shoulders, pushing him backward with full force until his back crashed into the banister. Kurt failed to bit back the gasp that escaped his lips but managed to hold in the words he wanted to throw at his uncle. But still, his uncle’s fist connected with Kurt’s face right beneath his right eye. In the morning it would be swollen shut, a hideous combination of purple and blue hues. </p>
<p>His uncle’s drunk rage turned Kurt into a punching bag for whatever emotions had let fester until they’d exploded onto Kurt. Kurt did his best to protect himself, putting his arms up to shield his face once his uncle had moved to the lower parts of his body. And then as quickly as they’d started, the blows stopped. Kurt slowly moved his arms away from his face and through the eye he could still see out of, watched as his uncle retreated out of the room and a second later heard the slam of his bedroom door.</p>
<p>That was the two weeks Kurt stayed home sick with mono. It was the first thing he could think of that would keep Rachel away completely (to protect her voice) and give him enough time to let most of the swelling go down. </p>
<p>Returning to school, Kurt did his best to pretend that everything was okay. He tried to pretend that he never left his room when his uncle was home. He tried to pretend that he hadn’t gotten the shit beaten out of him by the person who was supposed to be responsible for him—to him—and hadn’t spent two weeks nursing various injuries. He couldn’t pretend like he wasn’t absolutely terrified. But he didn’t say anything to anyone. And when Rachel noticed the bruise on his arm, Kurt came up with a plan: Parsons, New York City, and not a single thing that kept him tied to Lima. He pushed away Rachel, left the Glee club, and became focused on one thing.</p>
<p>Keeping himself alive.</p>
<p>*** </p>
<p>The first thing Kurt noticed when Blaine arrived at his locker Monday morning was that Blaine seemed frustrated. He turned the dial on his locker like it had personally offended him and the rest of him seemed incredibly tense. Normally, Blaine was too chipper for Kurt’s liking, but seeing him like that had bothered him even more. </p>
<p>“What’s wrong?” Kurt questioned before he could really think about it. He’d spent too much time over the weekend trying to figure out how to make their study sessions and ultimately decided that since they were meeting after school twice a week to work on the project, there really wasn’t a point anymore trying to ignore Blaine. </p>
<p>But he really couldn’t when the other boy let out an exaggerated sigh and turned to look at Kurt, “We might need to rearrange our schedule for this project after this week.”</p>
<p>“And why is that?” </p>
<p>“Because this morning, I was greeted with this,” Blaine said lifting a piece of pink paper from his bag. Kurt could smell the perfume coming from the page and he knew it was from Rachel, “It’s our rehearsal schedule from now until Regionals. Nationals, actually, but we need to get that far first.”</p>
<p>“That’s Rachel,” Kurt said pushing back fond memories that had pressed their way to the front of his mind, along with the feeling of longing for his former best friend, and the feelings of jealousy he had towards Blaine for getting to spend time with Rachel. But then he felt nothing but guilt because he had no one to blame other than himself. </p>
<p>“So, we’re going to have to move to either Tuesday or Wednesday next week,” Blaine said, “Because Monday I have dance rehearsal until…’ to be announced’”</p>
<p>“That sounds absolutely horrible,” Kurt said pitying Blaine and the rest of New Direction then turning back to his locker, ready to sit through another boring Calculus lecture when he felt he was being watched. He turned his head slightly to see Blaine’s hazel eyes watching him curiously.</p>
<p>“What?” Kurt asked frantically, touching at his face, “Is there something on my face?”</p>
<p>“What—no,” Blaine said laughed, “Y-you asked me what was wrong.”</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Kurt said elongating his vowels like it had been nothing. But he understood why Blaine was commenting, questioning his behavior. Friday morning Kurt had been nothing but hostile towards Blaine and now he was being civil, friendly even, “Don’t read too deep into it Blaine. There isn’t anything there.”</p>
<p>“I’m going to make me your friend if it’s the last thing I do, Kurt Hummel.”</p>
<p>“When you say it like that it sounds absolutely terrifying.”</p>
<p>And Kurt understood terror. </p>
<p>Blaine went to tease that, given the chance, being friends with Blaine would be the best thing Kurt had ever done, but he never got the chance. He was interrupted by the arrival of Karofsky and Azimio. The two football players just stood there, silently watching both boys while flashing their most menacing grins.</p>
<p>“Can we help you gentleman?” Blaine questioned. Beside him, he noted Kurt’s eyes widen at Blaine’s brazen act. It seemed no one ever stood up to those two.</p>
<p>“Yeah, you can,” Azimio said, “You can stop being so gay.”</p>
<p>Blaine pressed his lips together, “Not something either of us decided, so I’m not sure we can just stop. Sorry,” Blaine said ending with a broad smile. Kurt just watched quietly astonished by Blaine’s smug demeanor. </p>
<p>“Listen here,” Karofsky interjected, “I don’t know you think you are talking to us like that. And if memory serves me correctly Zee, this is the second time here fairy boy has mouthed off on us. Do I need to introduce him to the Fury?”</p>
<p>Karofsky raised his fist and took a step toward Blaine, but Blaine didn’t flinch. Beside him, he heard Kurt’s breath hitch. But Karofsky’s fist never made contact with any flesh. Blaine just laughed, loudly, and in a way that Kurt had never seen anyone react to Karofsky and Azimio before, or when anyone was about to get punched in the face. </p>
<p>“Do it,” Blaine uttered.</p>
<p>“Blaine,” Kurt warned beside him. </p>
<p>“No, Kurt,” Blaine said without taking his eyes off the jocks in front of them, “If these guys have a problem with us having a simple conversation and feel the need to hit me for it, then by all means let them.”</p>
<p>Blaine’s eyes were locked with Karofsky’s, the bigger boy still posed to strike. Kurt’s heart was beating rapidly in his chest, fearful that Karofsky would now simply hit Blaine because Blaine had egged him on and he didn’t want to look like a fool in front of the crowd that was starting to gather. In all the years that Karofsky had bullied him, he’d never once his Kurt with his first. Sure, he’d been pushed into more lockers than he could count and had been hit in the face with countless slushies. But he’d never been struck by the force of what Karofsky called ‘The Fury’.</p>
<p>The warning bell rang and after a heartbeat, Karofsky stopped back and lowered his fist.</p>
<p>“You got lucky this time, homo,” Karofsky spit and a moment later he and Azimio were walking away. </p>
<p>“Are you insane?” Kurt questioned, practically screaming. </p>
<p>“What?” Blaine said shrugging his shoulders. Like he hadn’t just faced down the giant and kind of won. </p>
<p>“He was going to hit you,” Kurt said, “and you were practically begging him to.”</p>
<p>“He wasn’t going to hit me,” Blaine said turning back to his locker.</p>
<p>“You don’t know that.”</p>
<p>“Then he would have hit me,” Blaine said shrugging as he gathered his books for his afternoon classes, “I’ve dealt with worse.”</p>
<p>“You’ve just painted a large bulls-eye on your back, Blaine. They’re not going to leave you alone,” Kurt said, “God, I’m sorry.”</p>
<p>“For what?” Blaine questioned looking over appalled. </p>
<p>“They only targeted you because you were talking to me. I seem to be their favorite.”</p>
<p>“Do you honestly believe that, Kurt?”</p>
<p>It was Kurt’s turn to shrug. </p>
<p>“They would have harassed me whether I was talking to you or not. But don’t worry about me, I can handle it.”</p>
<p>The final bell rang and both Kurt and Blaine were going to be late for class. </p>
<p>“I’ll meet you at the Lima Bean right after school?” Blaine asked as he began his trek, backward so he was still looking at Kurt, down the almost empty hallway.</p>
<p>Kurt nodded and watched as Blaine turned and walked quickly down the hallway before Kurt did the same.</p>
<p>*** </p>
<p>“We need to talk about the witches,” Kurt said not looking up from the notes he was scribbling into his notebook at their table at the Lima Bean. </p>
<p>“Is the bullying bad?” Blaine asked ignoring Kurt’s attempt to get them to focus on their Macbeth project, “Like, I’ve seen some things but that it? Is that as bad as it gets?”</p>
<p>“Blaine, if you’re worried about what they’ll do to you..”</p>
<p>“It's not that,” Blaine told him, “I’m worried about y-I’m just curious.”</p>
<p>Kurt eyed Blaine suspiciously, but sighed in resignation, “That’s…most of it. I used to get thrown in the dumpster a couple of times a week, but they seemed to move on from that. But there are always the slushies.”</p>
<p>“Slushies?”</p>
<p>“Slushies. Gigantic cups of frigid sugary slush that gets thrown right in your face,” Kurt explained, “I actually haven’t had one in a while. Great…now I’ve just jinxed myself. I’ll have to make sure I have my extra clothes tomorrow. You might as well start bringing some too.”</p>
<p>“Noted.”</p>
<p>“But he’s never hit me,” Kurt confessed, “Not the way he was threatening today.”</p>
<p>Blaine nodded.</p>
<p>They’re quiet for a while, both of them focusing on the list of topics and themes they need to cover for their report. Blaine would occasionally flip through his copy of the play, looking for something to quote in their paper, but otherwise, the only sound was just the sound of the coffee shop. </p>
<p>“When did it start for you?” Kurt asked startling Blaine from whatever train of thought he was having, “The bullying, I mean.”</p>
<p>“Oh, uh,” Blaine took a moment to remember, “Ten? It was right after my tenth birthday. Right around the time I realized I was...different."</p>
<p>“Wow,” Kurt said surprised.</p>
<p>“You?”</p>
<p>“Six?”</p>
<p>“Six!” Blaine exclaimed as if had been the most absurd thing he’d ever heard.</p>
<p>“I was obviously different at a very young age,” Kurt noted.</p>
<p>“Wow, I’m sorry,” Blaine said, “That had to be hard.”</p>
<p>“I managed alright,” Kurt told him, “But then I met Rachel and we were kind of a team. They made fun of her because she’s been exactly who she is now since before she could walk. Very aware of her talent and unafraid to point it out to everyone. That and the fact that she had two dads made her a pretty easy target. And I was just too much like a girl.”</p>
<p>“I bet it was great to have Rachel. I’m sure she was grateful to have you.”</p>
<p>“I’m sure she told you that both of my parents are dead,” Kurt said quickly.</p>
<p>Blaine sat back in his seat, his eyes wide, “Oh, wow. No, she didn’t. I’m so sorry to hear that, Kurt.”</p>
<p>“Oh,” was all that managed to escape Kurt’s lips. Kurt was positive that Rachel had given Blaine a recap of his entire life. That there were few assumptions Blaine now had about him.</p>
<p>“Rachel and I haven’t really talked <em>about</em> you,” Blaine said knowing it wasn’t entirely true. Though, most of their discussions were about Rachel’s side of her former friendship. He knew about that. Kurt was still a mystery to him, “I know that you and Rachel used to be friends; and that now you’re not. That’s pretty much it.”</p>
<p>“Oh.”</p>
<p>“Will you tell me why you two aren’t friends anymore?”</p>
<p>Kurt knew that Blaine meant no malice. But honestly, if he hadn’t been honest with Rachel, he definitely wasn’t going to open up to Blaine.</p>
<p>“No. Nope,” Kurt said, “That is not a question that locker friends – slash- English partners ask.”</p>
<p>“So, you’re finally agreeing to it?”</p>
<p>Kurt sighed, grateful to have moved on so easy, “I don’t really have a choice. But questions like that don’t qualify for our…partnership.”</p>
<p>“Ah,” Blaine said, “Got it.”</p>
<p>They went back to the comfortable quiet that had enveloped them earlier. Well, Kurt wasn’t exactly concentrating on his work, but what would happen when he got home, almost three hours later than she should have. He left his window open a crack just in case he decided it was best to try to climb inside that way, but there was no telling whether or not his uncle had gotten into his room already and what state he might be in once he realized that Kurt wasn’t inside. He was betting everything on the fact that if he was out of his uncle’s sight, he would be completely out of his mind. </p>
<p>He suddenly froze, but not from fear of his uncle. Kurt didn’t look up at Blaine, but he was almost certain that it was Blaine’s foot that was tapping beneath the table, brushing against the side of Kurt’s leg. Kurt wasn’t even sure Blaine realized what he was doing until Kurt’s food moved toward Blaine’s knocking into his boot into Blaine’s loafers and he felt Blaine’s rhythmic tapping stop.</p>
<p>Kurt kept his eyes focused on the book in front of him, but he could tell that Blaine hadn’t lifted his head. Kurt was glad because it meant that he had time to try and hide the blush that started to heat his cheeks and he was sure that if he tried to speak at the moment he would be nothing but gibberish.</p>
<p>The feeling that replaced his earlier fear was a new one, but Kurt knew what he thought they were. He’d seen enough movies and musicals to identify them. The flutter of his chest, the blushing at the slightest touches—those were signs of a crush. But Kurt Hummel didn’t have a crush. He <em>couldn’t</em>. No, he was simply confusing the feelings of the —reluctant—friendship he was feeling toward Blaine for something different. He’d been introduced to the first other openly gay boy he’d probably ever meet in Lima and as soon Blaine went away, so would the feelings. But there was still another half an hour before Kurt would be leaving The Lima Bean and his desire for Blaine’s absentminded foot tapping against his ankle to resume was becoming overwhelming. </p>
<p>This was going to be a problem.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Kurt decided to be bold and walked through the front door of his uncle’s house after his study session with Blaine. He was aware of how reckless it was, but it felt easier than trying to scale the house to get to his second-story window. When he got inside, he was shocked to find that his uncle was sitting in front of the TV looking a bit more put together than he had since he’d become unemployed. After first, Kurt just stood in the doorway, watching him as he intensely focused on the football game on TV. When his presence wasn’t even acknowledged, he decided to quit testing his luck and hurried to the kitchen, moving as carefully and quietly as possible as to not burst the bubble that was protecting him. He made a quick sandwich for himself and after grabbing a few bottles of water from the fridge, he hurried to his room, unscathed. Safe.</p>
<p>Kurt spent some time doing his other homework, listening carefully for footsteps coming toward his bedroom. But by the time he’d changed into his pajamas as had climbed into bed with his sketch pad, the hallway had been silent. </p>
<p>It wasn’t until he was almost done with the sketch that he realized that what he’d drawn was actually a penciled sketch of the outfit Blaine had worn to school that day. It had only been a pair of grey slacks with a plaid V-neck sweater. Kurt sighed and put the sketchbook down, frustrated. </p>
<p>He wished he had someone to talk to about Blaine, about Rachel, about <em>everything.</em> He wished his dad was there to tell him that everything would be alright. But if his dad were still around, everything would be alright. He would have Rachel and he could talk to her about how absolutely adorable Blaine was even if he sometimes drove him a little crazy that he was constantly around. But maybe he’d be more open to forming something with Blaine if things were different. </p>
<p>But his reality was a bucket of ice water and it wasn’t helpful to imagine a different life. It wasn’t possible. </p>
<p>Kurt lay down on the top of his comforter, too tired to seek the warmth and support that it could give him. He glanced at the picture next to his bed, the one of his mom and dad on their wedding day. They were smiling and Kurt thought for a moment, just a <em>moment</em>, that that could be him someday. </p>
<p>There were eight months until he turned eighteen. Eight months until he could escape from everything. Maybe in eight months, he could hope again.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>I don't wanna be an island</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> I just wanna feel alive and</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> get to see your face again</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> I don't wanna be an island</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> I just wanna feel alive and</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> get to see your face again</em>
</p>
<p>Tuesday afternoons were the only day that Rachel didn't make New Directions practice in the auditorium all afternoon, so it was that day that Kurt and Blaine met at The Lima Bean after school to work on their Macbeth project. It was not a thrilling display, just two boys sitting at a table surrounded by notebooks and binders and the works of William Shakespeare. Sometimes they went long periods without talking or looking at each other each engrossed in textbooks and reference material they needed to use.</p>
<p>Kurt hadn't yet figured out how to deal with his feelings where Blaine was concerned. He tried hard to keep his face neutral, but lately, he seemed to be hyperaware of Blaine's presence and the fluttering somewhere inside his chest that came with it. It made him want to smile. Hell, sometimes it made him want to <em>sing</em>.</p>
<p>Kurt had pushed Rachel and everyone else who cared about him out of his life for a reason. A reason that was still very valid. It should have been the same with Blaine, they’d only known each other three months. And Kurt had spent most of that time trying his hardest to keep Blaine as a far away as possible. But what had worked so well for him with those he loved hadn’t seemed to even phase Blaine. He’d been persistent and by the time Kurt realized it he’d gotten in under the wire—that he looked forward to seeing Blaine; that his heart raced whenever he was around—it was too late. But why? Why, after so many years of keeping himself distant did he want to be close to someone? Why did this one boy make him want to tear down all his meticulously built walls?</p>
<p>The worst part was that Kurt had no idea how Blaine was feeling. He’d been very vocal about wanting to be friends, but never really hinted he was interested in anything more. It would be the icing on the cake if the adorable boy who just happened to be everywhere that Kurt was rejected him. Leaving him once again completely alone. And it wasn’t like Kurt could offer him anything real. So, Kurt held his tongue on this particular Tuesday, sitting at their table at The Lima Bean (yes, the blonde barista had officially dubbed the table <em>theirs) </em>and tried his best to ignore the way that Blaine’s brow scrunched together when he didn’t understand the Shakespearian language. Or that he liked to chew on his pen caps.</p>
<p>"What do you draw?" Blaine said a couple of minutes later after putting his book down with a sigh.</p>
<p>"What?" Kurt said as he looked up to find Blaine watching him with questioning eyes.</p>
<p>"I always see you drawing in English," Blaine explained, "And you carry that sketchbook everywhere."</p>
<p>"Oh," Kurt said placing his hand on top of the sketchbook that had been sitting on top of a pile of reference books, "uh, they're fashion designs."</p>
<p>"Oh, wow!" Blaine exclaimed, "When Rachel said your passion was fashion, and you said you had applied to Parsons, I thought that meant you were good at dressing yourself. Which you clearly are, "Blaine said gesturing towards Kurt, "but I thought it meant putting other people's clothes onto the fashionably challenged; not that you were designing your own line."</p>
<p>"So you two do talk about me?" Kurt questioned.</p>
<p>"Not as much as you think," Blaine said with a slight smile, "Can I see?"</p>
<p>"Really?" Kurt asked throwing Blaine a curious look.</p>
<p>"My passion lies in performing, not fashion. You don't have to worry about me stealing your designs. I'm just curious if you're willing to show them."</p>
<p>"It's not that—"</p>
<p>"Plus, I think it'll be cool in ten years to say that I saw a Kurt Hummel original before it cost one hundred dollars in a boutique somewhere in New York City."</p>
<p>Kurt blushed, but opened to the first sketch inside his pad. He'd never shown anyone his sketches before. Well, except Rachel, of course, but she had been obligated, as his best friend, to ooh and aah at the appropriate things, no matter how good, or bad, Kurt's designs really were. But Blaine? Blaine wasn't under any obligation to like his work. He assumed that Blaine would be polite, but Kurt couldn't predict what Blaine's true thoughts would be. Kurt handed the pad to Blaine, hesitantly, as if he was giving away his most treasured possession. And in a way, he was. It wasn't anywhere near complete; he'd started on it the night before. But he really loved the direction it was going.</p>
<p>It was a man's outfit. There was no color but the sketch consisted of a pair of slacks, that Kurt imagined would be a light grey; a plaid short-sleeved button-down, suspenders, and to top it all off, a bowtie. Kurt had imagined it would be green because Kurt had drawn it picturing Blaine as the one who would model it. The green would make Blaine's eyes sparkle just a little bit more than usual. Kurt watched as Blaine examined the sketch, hoping that Blaine wouldn't realize the fact that the sketch was drawn based on Blaine's own fashion sense.</p>
<p>"Your silence is absolutely terrifying," Kurt said folding his hands as if he were praying and placed them against his lips.</p>
<p>Blaine smiled and looked up to meet Kurt's eyes, "Don't be scared. They're good. I mean, I'm not exactly the most informed on these kinds of things, but I like them."</p>
<p>Kurt moved his hands away from his lips and smiled as he felt his heart expanding in his chest.</p>
<p>"Thanks," Kurt finally managed to mutter.</p>
<p>It was like Blaine's interest and approval in what Kurt had created meant as much to him as it would have had Alexander McQueen given him two thumbs up from the afterlife.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>It had been in his bag all day. Another standard white envelope with the Parsons, New School for Design logo stamped on the top left corner. Kurt had tried to find time to sneak into the auditorium to open it, but the second he opened the door, he could hear Rachel and Tina rehearsing. The sound of their voices, creating smooth harmonies, tugged at Kurt's heart and after a moment he pulled himself away from the door. So Kurt resigned to opening the letter at his locker. It was too public but it was better than the bathroom.</p>
<p>A million thoughts ran through his mind as he tore open the seal: <em>What if someone was actually stupid enough to reject Parsons? What if this was his acceptance? What if all they wanted was a donation? What if this broke his heart even further? </em>Regardless of what was inside, Kurt braced himself as he pulled the paper out and unfolded it.</p>
<p>"<em>Dear Mr. Hummel</em>," it began, "<em>We're pleased to inform you that you have been removed from the waiting list for the Fall 2012 enrollment and have been accepted to Parsons, New School for Design.</em>"</p>
<p>Kurt eeped a little louder than he'd intended, looking around to see if he'd attracted anyone's attention. When he saw that he hadn't, his lips moved to a broad grin. By the time he finished the letter he had received a full scholarship and in that single moment, he felt like everything was finally falling into place. He felt hopeful.</p>
<p>
  <em>He'd done it.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>He'd made it.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>He was getting out…alive.</em>
</p>
<p>That thought ran through his mind on repeat and his entire body began to vibrate with joy so much so that he was certain everyone in the hallway could feel it too. Now there was something to look forward to. The light at the end of the dark tunnel he'd been living in since his dad died was finally in sight. Just eight more months. Eight more months and he was going to be out of Lima, in New York, and starting on the journey towards the rest of his life. He was finally on the path in life where Lima, Ohio was nothing more than a bad dream where everything sucked.</p>
<p>"You look happy," Blaine said cheerily as he came up to his locker and spinning the lock.</p>
<p>"Parsons," Kurt said, his smile never falling, lifting the letter, "I've been removed from the waiting list."</p>
<p>"Oh my god," Blaine said excitedly, "Kurt, that's amazing!"</p>
<p>Kurt had expected that reaction from Blaine. He'd expected Blaine to be genuinely, yet over-the-top, excited for Kurt. What hadn't expected was for Blaine to fling himself toward Kurt, his arms wrapping around Kurt's middle. Kurt didn't expect Blaine to say 'that's so exciting' right into his ear or the goosebumps it sent through his entire body. Or that without thinking, he dissolved into Blaine's embrace, wrapping his arms around the other boy and holding him close. He hadn't expected to like what he was feeling so much.</p>
<p>He was happy. And it was from a mixture of his acceptance letter, the fact that fate was finally on his side, most shockingly, Blaine. Somehow the fact that Kurt had gotten to share one of the best moments he'd had since his dad died with Blaine made Kurt dizzy. Now that Parsons and New York were finally figured out, Kurt felt like the biggest question mark in his life was floating over Blaine. He'd spent so long trying to push everyone away, but when it came to Blaine, he couldn't keep himself from wanting to be around the boy. It was as if some unseen force was drawing Kurt to Blaine and there was absolutely nothing Kurt could do to stop it if he wanted to.</p>
<p>"We should celebrate," Blaine said pulling away, "Some of the glee kids are going to the movies tonight. You could come."</p>
<p>Kurt thought he saw something in Blaine’s eye as he invited Kurt out. Kurt had never been asked out before, but he thought for a moment that the way Blaine was suggesting he join them, and the slight blush of his cheeks, meant that Blaine wanted him to join them as his date. Then Blaine reached over and took Kurt’s hand in his, his eyes watching him expectantly, waiting for an answer. Once upon a time Kurt had dreamed over this moment. But he’d stopped thinking would ever come. But now, it was a reality and everything inside of him was screaming to say yes. If he said yes, he could get his old life back. He could have his friends back. He could have Blaine. He could have every single thing he’d been missing and longing for since the whole mess with his uncle started.</p>
<p>But it was the thought of his uncle that turned his yes into a no. That dampened all of the joy he’d been feeling over the last few minutes. It was one thing to let himself have a crush, it was entirely different to do what Blaine was asking. He knew that. He couldn’t risk the backlash if his uncle noticed he’d come late. He’d spend the night in his room, sketching or doing homework. No matter how much he wished it, his life in Lima would never be what he used to have. He could never get his friend back. He could never really have Blaine.</p>
<p>"I can't," Kurt said pulling his hand from Blaine’s, "But thank you for asking."</p>
<p>"A-are you sure?" Blaine questioned. Kurt was thankful Blaine hadn’t asked why he couldn’t come, but Kurt could also see the hurt in his eyes. It made Kurt want to cry.</p>
<p>"Yeah,” Kurt lied. He hadn’t wanted anything more in a long time.</p>
<p>"Alright,” Blaine said and Kurt watched a shadow of a smile return to Blaine’s face, "But then coffee is on me Tuesday."</p>
<p>Kurt forced a smile of his own, "Deal."</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Kurt was very familiar with the sound of ice and water hitting the floor made around the halls of McKinley. As Kurt headed toward his locker before class, he heard its warped melody from somewhere down the hall, followed by the chorus of gasps. Kurt knew it would only be a matter of time before Karofsky and Azimio reinstated their morning slushie ritual. But Kurt had been certain that he would be their first target. But instead, as the crowd began to thin in front of him, Kurt stopped dead in his tracks, his jaw dropping. It was like he’d just missed witnessing a crime being committed, and now he was just left with the aftermath. And the carnage consisted of Blaine, his face covered in a mixture of slushied ice and red sugar water.</p>
<p>
  <em>Blaine had been slushied.</em>
</p>
<p>Blaine stood in front of their lockers, ice dripping down his face, looking utterly shocked and absolutely lost. Sighing, Kurt walked over to Blaine, the other boy not moving, just standing there. He didn’t even look up as Kurt approached.</p>
<p>“Come on,” Kurt said as he wrapped his fingers gently around Blaine’s wrist and lead him through the hallways until they reached the boy’s bathroom. Since classes were about to start, the two-stall, four urinal bathroom was luckily empty.</p>
<p>Kurt guided Blaine over to the bank of sinks and turned on the water, watching as Blaine rubbed furiously at his eyes with the heels of his hands. Kurt tested the water to make sure it was warm enough.</p>
<p>"Here," Kurt said grabbing Blaine by the shoulders and guiding him in front of the sink, "Rinse your eyes out. I'm sure they're burning."</p>
<p>Blaine did was Kurt had instructed, cupping the warm water in his hands then bringing it up to his face, rinsing the syrup from his eyes until he could finally see clearly again. When he looked up, their eyes met in the mirror.</p>
<p>What he saw was Kurt, incredibly close, pulling chunks of colored ice from Blaine's wet hair. The gel had certainly become loose from the wetness of it all. Blaine groaned moving closer to the mirror, scowling at the sight. His curls had begun to come undone from his otherwise gelled down hair.</p>
<p>"You're going to have to wash all the gel out," Kurt said absentmindedly playing with one of Blaine's curls.</p>
<p>Kurt had half expected Blaine to pull away from his touch. They were friends, Kurt was more than able to admit that now, but he’d also turned down Blaine’s possibly not platonic invitation to movie night, which had turned everything from confusing to complicated. As Kurt picked bits of ice out of Blaine’s hair, their proximity was not lost on him as his hands trembled just a bit as they slide through Blaine’s locks. They were close. Close enough to hold, close enough to <em>kiss</em>. But he just couldn’t.</p>
<p>Kurt was intimately familiar with wanting things he couldn’t have. He needed to figure out how to put Blaine into that bucket and make him stay there. To push away the voice inside his head that didn’t care about consequences and only cared about Blaine.</p>
<p>“Oh, no,” Blaine said pulling away, eyes wide. Kurt hoped Blaine had missed him flinch at it movements. Maybe their proximity was too much for Blaine. Maybe he didn’t want it, “I didn’t bring more hair gel and my hair is absolutely unreasonable without it.”</p>
<p>"I doubt it's that bad, Blaine," Kurt said, holding back the feeling of embarrassment until he figured out if Blaine had pulled away because of Kurt himself, or the idea of wearing his hair without gel, "Well you certainly can't go around with your hair the way it is now."</p>
<p>"This," Blaine said pointing to his head. The front was damp and curling while the back was still held down with gel, "is one hundred times better than my hair without gel."</p>
<p>Kurt pushed away all his more complex feelings toward Blaine and decided to focus entirely on being his friend. He could handle a hair emergency better than he could the rest of it. It would give him something else to focus on. Blaine’s certainly couldn’t get through the day with his hair the way it was. So without a word, he sent a pointed look in Blaine’s direction before gesturing to the still running sink. Blaine pouted as he turned and gave in.</p>
<p>Ten minutes later, Blaine’s hair had been rinsed of all of its gel and washed with a bottle of shampoo Kurt happened to have it in bag for situations just like this. Blaine’s hair now sat, wet, on his head and Kurt wondered why Blaine had made such a fuss about his hair without the gel. It just looked like it always did, just held down by water and not hair gel. Blaine ran a towel through his hair repeatedly and then stopped. But he held the towel against his head as he sent a pleading look to Kurt.</p>
<p>“Come on, Blaine,” Kurt said, trying to keep the ‘god, he’s adorable’ thoughts from spending more than a millisecond at the front of his mind and resisting the urge to reach out and pull at Blaine’s hands until he removed the towel.</p>
<p>“Kurt,” Blaine whined.</p>
<p>Kurt just raised his eye brows, telling Blaine that if he didn’t remove the towel himself, Kurt would have to do it for him. Because Blaine needed Kurt to be his friend right and that was the kind of friend Kurt Hummel was.</p>
<p>Slowly, Blaine lifted the towel from his head, exposing his hair. It was still damp, but Kurt could already see where tiny brown curls began to billow upward from the top of Blaine's head as it dried.</p>
<p>"It's not that bad," Kurt said.</p>
<p>"Wait until it's completely dry. You should see it in the summer when the humidity is high."</p>
<p>"I'll remember that come June," Kurt said.</p>
<p>But in June, Kurt would be long gone. He'd be in New York. Far away from everything Lima, including Blaine. Kurt watched as Blaine played with his hair in the mirror. He'd had a good couple of weeks, pretending that everything was close to the way it used to be. Before the bad days, before he had to keep himself away from everyone so they wouldn't be sucked into the black hole that was becoming his life before he came to the conclusion that it was better that he leave Lima without a single thing tying him to the sad cow town. And while it was fun to pretend that something could happen between him and Blaine, the reality of it all was that it couldn't. They would finish their English project and then they would be the two boys whose lockers just happened to be next to the others.</p>
<p>"Kurt?" Blaine asked interrupting Kurt's thoughts. Kurt registered the hesitance in Blaine's voice as he eyed Kurt in the mirror.</p>
<p>"Yeah?" Kurt replied, his voice not as strong as he wished it would have been.</p>
<p>"Thank you," Blaine said softly, his voice cracking as the tears began to pool in his eyes.</p>
<p>Kurt's heart broke again as he watched a single tear trickle down Blaine's cheek. Not once since they'd entered the bathroom had either of them really addressed what had happened to Blaine. Kurt had been too busy trying to sort through his feelings about Blaine and Blaine was too busy washing the syrup from his stinging eyes. But now that things had finally settled down, Blaine had the chance to feel the emotions involved with taking his first slushie to the face, and Kurt knew from experience that this moment sucked. He understood that feeling of absolute worthlessness that was as overwhelming as the initial cold shock of the ice hitting your face.</p>
<p>Kurt smiled, "You're welcome."</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>When it came to what instigated Uncle Tim's bad days, it was usually Kurt's fault. Not really by something he did, but because of his mere existence. It always seemed to be in Uncle Tim's way of getting what he wanted. This time was no different. Kurt knew the moment he woke up that morning that something was off. There was something in the air that told him deep in his gut that something was going to go wrong. He'd spent the last three weeks going almost completely unnoticed by Uncle Tim. But it wasn't long before the bubble would pop. Kurt walked through the front door after his study sessions with Blaine as if everything was normal. As if Kurt wasn't constantly in fear of his alcoholic, abusive, uncle.</p>
<p>When Kurt walked through the front door, Uncle Tim wasn't in his chair and Kurt immediately froze. The older man's car was in the driveway and for a moment Kurt wondered if would find his bedroom once again destroyed out of rage. He forced himself to take two steps into the house and could see that his bedroom door was still shut. He was relieved for only a moment before Uncle Tim came staggered out of his own bedroom, clearly inebriated. The job interview he'd had apparently not gone as planned.</p>
<p>"Where have you been?" Uncle Tim asked sharply.</p>
<p>"I-I was out—um—I-I was working on a project for school w-with one of the k-kids in my class," Kurt answered struggling to control the quivering in his voice.</p>
<p>Most of what happened next passed in a blur to Kurt. He remembered the slap to the face, the way he backed into the kitchen to get some distance between himself and Uncle Tim. He remembered the punch to the face, something being thrown and the sound of glass shattering behind him. Whatever it was, when a punch to the gut knocked the wind from Kurt's lungs and he fell to the ground, a shard of it pierced through Kurt's shirt and through his skin, lodging itself into his side, his body recoiling in pain as a whimper escaped his lips. After that, Kurt remembered little else, the pain in his side the only focus. He was aware that he was bleeding and that Uncle Tim was above him, spitting hateful words in Kurt's direction.</p>
<p>And then suddenly it was over.</p>
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